Dream: the man by the volcanic later\

This dream starts at a volcanic crater lake. Tall misty mountains stand in a ring around a body of deep blue water, the kind of deep blue that feels like the lake has no depth. I get into the water and it is quite cold, though the air temperature is warm. Within a few metres from the shore, I cannot see the bottom and it is like being suspended in space.

I drift on my back – there is no current at all so I hardly move. There are no clouds in the sky, just another shade of blue, completely still like the water. Some other people come into the water and I greet them. I swim out further alone and when I look back, two of them have pushed a couch into the water and are reading on the couch.

Wow, that is really the new definition of reading by the water. I think to myself. I swim over to see how the couch doesn’t sink. I conclude that the salt must be so strong in the water that even the weight of a couch with two adults can be supported.

After a while I get out of the water, feeling rather happy and relaxed. I walk up the road to an old block of apartments and go up the stairs. On the first floor, I turn right and the corner apartment is mine. The door is open, and my heart immediately starts to race. I tiptoe to the spot of sunlight that the door is letting through, and look inside with my pounding heart in my ears. Nothing looks astray from the door, so I go inside. All the front windows facing the lake are open with pale coloured curtains swishing in the wind.

Suddenly the door slams behind me, the noise making my heart jump out of my chest. I turn around and there is a man – I instinctively know he is an ex though I don’t recognise him. He looks horribly unkempt, with a rough unshaven face, unwashed hair and dirt all over his body. He is wearing a grey singlet which is heavily stained. He lunges towards me with an awful smile on his face, and I step back, bumping into the couch in front of the window. The stink of stale cigarettes hits me like a wave and I want to vomit.

Hey honey, I was just in the area and thought I’d pop in to see how you were doing. He steps back and says. Just wanted to give you a kiss was all.

I feel nauseous with my heart still racing its own crazy rhythm in my ears. I cannot hear what he is babbling anymore, and all that is on my mind is how to escape – the window? Surely I’d hurt myself if I jumped out. The door? I think he’d locked it on the way in. I could try to hit him somewhere and floor him? As I am contemplating all this, a small voice in my head says that this was a critical mistake to date this man. Shushing my inner voice, my eyes drift to the couch, and somehow I know that is the answer.

I have to push the couch out the window to make it land on the water. I realise, and wake up.

Sydney interlude

This was a very memorable three days for me, even though it had no “happy ending”. 

So much complexity can be found in just such a short time –

There was that fickle game of bread making, waiting to see if Barney would rise (and he did, beautifully)

There were those moments of feeling really, really good; realising how far I have come in the last 5 months and how I am in the best place I have been for the last very many years

There was one moment of feeling overwhelmingly negative, a flashback to those days when everything felt awful. But at the same time it was so positive that I dug myself out of that moment, maintained some composure and kept going.

There were some lovely moments shared with friends, filled with delicious food, laughter and stories. I was again reminded of how amazing my friends are and how they love me for who I am (and I love them for who they are).

There was a whole day of gorgeous sunshine in the bush, where I saw so many native wildflowers, admired the wonder of nature in a scribbly gum and across the expansive escarpment. It is simply incredible that one can still see kangaroos in the bush, in the middle of Sydney. I sat by the water for hours reading a book (strangely, set in Ontario) and snacking. I felt content in ways I had never known, this is unchartered territory.

There was the discovery and collection of the amazing vegetables in my dad’s garden. So much green and so much freshness. I devoured sun ripened baby tomatoes as I looked for more treasures. And even found a cactus flower!

Finally, there was this very memorable moment. After the interview I felt rather shattered, and decided to take a breather at Lifehouse. I walked into the foyer and saw a beautiful walnut baby grand, so I asked the volunteer ladies if I could play it. I played a string of Chopin pieces, if I remember correctly – the nocturne in E flat major, followed by the waltz in F minor, the waltz in A minor, then the nocturne in C minor, the waltz in B minor, and finally the nocturne in C sharp minor. I did not divert from Chopin as the melancholy and sentimentality suited me well at that very moment.

So many people came up to say thank you and I felt incredibly touched by their sincerity and kindness. I thought I am going to be okay – I have my own ways of reaching out to the universe. A lady stopped to tell me that she was supposed to hear this lovely music right after her first appointment with the oncologist (she was diagnosed with cancer this week). A man came up to say that I had made his day. A couple walked to the lift and walked back to finish listening to the nocturne. 

And finally, a very old and frail lady, probably in her late 80s, waited patiently to speak to me whilst I was talking to another man. When he had gone, she asked me if I could play a piece that her mother had really loved playing. She took out her wallet with her trembling hands and digged deep, finally coming up with a scrunched up piece of paper. On it there was a spidery scrawl in blue pen Clair de Lune. Who knows how long she had carried around that piece of paper, filled with memories and love for her mother? As I played those opening notes, her eyes went to a different place – I hope to a beautiful place. I could remember only a few lines of the piece but when I trailed off, I saw her eyes filled with tears as she thanked me for that little reminder. It was such a profound moment for me, awed by the  power of music. I left Lifehouse a different person.

Dream: fellowship in Toronto

This was a hauntingly beautiful and surreal dream.

The date is June 30 and I am arriving in Toronto to start my fellowship. I am walking along the street with my suitcase looking for the Airbnb I had booked – but it doesn’t look like Toronto at all. The streets are narrow and dark with tall, imposing trees. I’m increasingly puzzled as I find the Airbnb which looks remarkably like the one we have booked in Budapest – a light lemon colour with a roof featuring lots of domes and intricate plaster work.

I go up some very steep stairs and find myself in the hall, which leads off to a number of different rooms. A girl comes out to greet me and show me the way to my room. She is very friendly and I start chatting with her, but I am struck by this sense of not knowing what exactly I’m doing in Toronto. 

It is quite dark inside the room, and it is impossible to see the other end. All the furniture looks old and dusty. I look around and see a few chairs and a table, but there is no bed and there is no bathroom. The main feature of the room is a beautiful marble bar in the left hand corner, as if this room was once perhaps the dining room. Instead of alcohol, a number of statues sit over the bar and they all seem quite hard to digest – fancy artwork?

I go outside again to ask where the bathroom is, but the girl is gone. I walk on the streets, even darker than before. It is difficult to tell what time of the day it is, and I lose sense of time as darkness falls. I text a few Toronto friends but no one texts back. Eventually I decide I cannot recognise where I am in Toronto and go back to the Airbnb.

As I go up the steep narrow stairs again, a group of teenagers come out. They look like they are from the 80s – permed hair, leather jackets, multi coloured tights. They speak to me in French and I cannot understand them, but as they push past me on the staircase I am struck by the scent of their youth. I go up to my room again, the marble bar and silent statues still the only features of my room.

It seems brighter now, the moon casting its rays into the room. I decide to investigate and find that there is no wall on the other side of the room. Instead I walk straight out into what looks like a balcony, but is actually a park. There are lots of sweet little benches strewn here and there under big trees, inviting one to sit down and contemplate nature. I think of how I’d like to take a photo to show Emily, how to construct the photograph. The moon is surreal, bathing everything in a gentle milky light. I realise at that moment that I have not organised a fellowship for myself, and that I won’t be going anywhere to start a fellowship next year – because I have finished doing fellowships forever. With that realisation, my mind starts to wander, what next? What will I do in Toronto now?

Then I wake up.

A short dream and a long dream - about life

The short dream

 

In this dream, I am doing the ward round in West Wing. There is a small African boy (?Nigerian? Not sure) in Bed 18 and he is surrounded by crying relatives. I am standing next to bed 10 and wondering if I should go over there, but the head nurse manages to discourage me. I continue with the ward round and by the time I get to bed 12, the wailing becomes louder and louder. I look over and see the child is dying. 

Then I realise that the end of the world is here, and it will end with the death of that child. Then I wake up.

The long dream

 

In this dream I am with a group of friends and one of them is my boyfriend – a man that I have never seen before. We are riding motorbikes around East Timor and stopping randomly in villages, those dusty places where there is little more than a handful of thatched huts and children playing with animals in the dirt.

In one such non-descript village we could see the ocean, not too far away. The road was windy and descended from the village to the ocean. Some villagers called things out to us but we could not understand them. As we neared the ocean, it was clear what the warning was – the water came very close to the road and as the waves washed up, actually over the road.

I can’t remember how many motorbikes we had but we were the last ones through. There was a small downhill just before the water started, so it felt like we ran into the water at full speed. It was surprisingly cold as it washed over us, and soon we could see nothing at all. The road fell away and we were actually glidng through the water. For a moment it was almost like we were driving underwater and somehow the motorbike could part water, but in a split second we had been washed away. I was far far out in the ocean, and I could not see anyone.

I gulped down several mouthfuls of salty seawater and started to panic. My legs stayed faithful to me and I managed to paddle out to the shore again. There I saw my boyfriend standing under a coconut tree, staring into the distance. None of the others were there. They had gotten through and we were the only ones left, now with no means of transport.

We walked back up the hill to the village, struggling in the suddenly stifling air. We saw a shop which had a Chinese sign “closed” on it. I saw through the grates that there were people inside, but they did not answer our calls. We walked around and all the people seemed to have disappeared. Finally we found a man running a fruit stall, but something immediately disturbed me about him. I had a quick flashback to another scene, where all of us together had escaped some baddies – and that man was him. I pulled urgently at my boyfriend’s sleeve, but he was chitchatting in a friendly way with the fruit man.

The sense of panic rose in me, not dissimilar to when I was in the water but with a far greater urgency. I could not believe my eyes as the fruit man suddenly stood up, gripped my boyfriend in a choke-hold and dragged him away. I chased after them but they were gone.

The next scene cuts to me living alone in a thatched hut, not far from the ocean where we had almost drowned. I walk up the road, past the village, to a rudimentary building which is the local prison. I wonder what our crime is as I pass food silently to my boyfriend. I wonder how long I have been in this village already, getting up, eating and visiting my boyfriend in jail.

What is the purpose of life? I think, and wake up.

Barney 2.0

Barney had a near death experience when I went to Sri Lanka and the fridge broke while I was away. When I got back he had a thick coat of grey sludge on top and smelled awful - like a cross between rotten and uraemia. I gagged so much when I opened the lid that I almost threw him out, but I took him to the research fridge at work to have a R&R holiday.

I fed him with lots of fresh flour and sure enough, he came back.

Since Barney re-incarnated as Barney 2.0 he has made incredible loaves. Something about survival of the fittest must be the explanation - all the yeast that survived must be of higher quality.

I'm also enamoured with the sourdough book I bought - there are so many options online that I finally decided to get one of them. Emilie Raffa's Artisan Sourdough made simple is fantastic - it seems to work just perfectly for me.

 Barxmas - made with the "everyday sourdough" recipe from Emilie's book.

Barxmas is named so because I took him to the Christmas party at Jess's. Nothing better than freshly sliced bread, still warm & crusty with butter. 

Barrah - made with the "high hydration sourdough" recipe from Emilie's book. 

Barrah gets his name as he is dedicated to my extremely talented friend Sarah who had a dinner party at her house. Who knew four grownups (combined age well over 100) could have so much fun with board games! 

I'm still looking for those elusive humongous holes, but many have commented that the rise & crumb is pretty good already! Barrah rose really well and split right open.  He is a 1/3 rye, 2/3 white loaf which is probably my favourite flavour & crumb combination.

The next day I had Barrah with some homemade hummus, salad and leftover walnuts (too greedy with the next loaf). The best simple lunch ever!

Growing Barney for the next loaf.. the little one is to be Barbara, a gift for my friend going back to Melbourne.

Barberry was quite a handsome cranberry & walnut loaf. 

I mishmashed the recipe on figjam & lime cordial (the most amazing bread blog) and the one in the book. He is 1/4 spelt, 3/4 white, a handful each of cranberries and walnut, and a generous sprinkle of cinnamon. Needless to say the house smelled simply incredible as this baked. 

Barberry's crust was just the right chewiness and the inside was light and fluffy. I adore the purple colour from the walnuts and the sweet tang from the cranberries. Hands down the best loaf I've made so far! Viva la Barney 2.0!

East Timor 2011

Going back to East Timor brought back a lot of memories from our last trip. We did a pretty epic road trip out to the eastern end of Timor. Some of these photos were taken by Jade and some taken by me - it's hard to remember who was pressing the button!

The route we followed was Dili - Baucau - Tutuala - Jaco Island - Com - Dili

Dili to Baucau

Jesus backside beach  

Leaving Dili on the coastal road heading east 

Baucau mercado - an abandoned old Portugese building 

The incredible freshwater pool at the poussada, sadly we were in a hurry and didn't  get to swim here!

Random images from the road

The road was OK heading out of Baucau, except for the small incident when we got stuck in the middle of an armed convoy. The last part from Lospalos to Tutuala was epically bad though - steep, rocky downhills that tested our adrenaline reserves. We passed by countless small villages full of animals and children playing in the dust. We stopped in a couple of schools to distribute books and pens we had brought along, and were struck by the simplicity of Timorese country life.

Jaco island

Jaco island was one of the most magical places I have ever been. The water was so incredibly clear and the reef was just metres from the edge of the sand. A fisherman brought us across the short distance from Tutuala to Jaco and we spent the afternoon with the entire island to ourselves. Namiko managed to convince me to get into the water and see the coral, after which I had a strong desire to learn to swim. That is how, 17 years after I almost drowned in a pool, I started to learn to swim in 2011. In 2017, I really felt like my life came full circle when I went snorkelling in the Timorese ocean again. And it all started on this beautiful island.


Tutuala


We spent the night in Tutuala in tiny thatched huts run by the community initiative. The fisherman had caught our dinner and we had very simply roasted fish - incredibly fresh.

Com 
Com itself was becoming a beach resort town very rapidly, but the ocean near Com was just simply stunning.

We saw this abandoned building which was incredibly beautiful. It had such a strong haunted feeling that we wondered if people had died here.

On the last day we were in Dili, Namiko went for a dive and Jade & I chilled in town. At sunset we walked along the ocean and had some grilled fish. I think this was my last memory of Timor before we went back to Darwin

A few of my favourite faces

Dili, East Timor

I had spent a little time in Dili in 2011, before and after our road trip back then. Notable changes this time around include the invasion of Burger King all across the city (no other fast food chains though), the opening of Timor plaza (very fancy schmancy complex with shops and restaurants) and a lot more advertising for beer and mobile phones.

We drove out east towards Cristo Rei - apparently the second biggest Jesus status after Rio. A short walk later we were on top of the hill along with lots of mountain goats, several Indonesian tourists and some locals. It was Friday afternoon and everyone was out dancing in an awkward shuffling way, mostly looking bored.

We had a beach side drink at sunset.

Dinner at Restaurant Bidau followed. Lots of fresh fish including a delicious tom yum soup.

One of our delicious breakfasts - scrambled eggs and tropical fruit salad with yoghurt made by the Beachside hotel. Doll from Boneca on Atauro in the background, because we couldn't find Pengy!

On our last morning Pengy joined us for fresh pineapple & passionfruit, avocado feta smash and tomato salsa on toast. It was very hipsteriffic.

Beach road, near the embassy district.

A fancy-ola dinner at Timor plaza.

Clearly the highlight of Dili - a lift at Timor Plaza!

We also grabbed Portugese custard tarts from a bakery at Timor plaza. They looked great but sadly had congealed by the time we got them home, and reheating just wasn't the same.

This was one of the grossest things I've ever tasted. For some reason the photo was taken just in front of the red carved crocodile at Things & Stories.   

Crowds in front of the local supermarket on New years eve.

Fresh coconuts for $1.

My favourite photo of an airport, ever. There is only one flight per day.

Goodbye East Timor! I'll be back soon.