The epic road trip (1): Leaving the Northern Territory

In January 2011, my dad and I drove from Sydney to Darwin. It was to mark the beginning of a remarkable year that set Darwin in my heart. We talked about the road trip for years afterwards, and so it was only natural that we should set out on another one, this time via "the long way".

The grand route:
Darwin -- Katherine -- Tennant Creek -- Alice Springs -- Coober Pedy -- Adelaide -- Kangaroo Island -- Great Ocean Road -- Melbourne -- Sydney

Day 1: Darwin - Katherine
On a wonderful sunny day, we said goodbye to 288 Casuarina Drive where I lived for a year, and headed out of town. The real estate agent was in Howard Springs so after we dropped off the keys, we headed to the actual spring for lunch.

This place had been a R&R spot for the soldiers in World War II, and it's easy to see why.

This part of the trip was really the greatest hits of the NT. Edith falls is one of my very favourite places dating back to when I visited in 2011 and camped there.

In the wet season, the falls are closed for swimming due to high water levels and risk of salties. The last croc had been seen in February though, so we sat pretty close to the edge and soaked up the incredible scenery.

We were pretty much the only people there, and the reflections on this particular day were just spectacular.

We stopped in Katherine on our first night and went out to Tindal air force base to play piano duets with my friend Maggy. The piano was in the deserted chapel.

We met many years ago when I lived in Darwin last time and by chance we were both living in the NT again! We played the Spanish dances and Polish dances by Moszkowski, some really wonderful repertoire for the piano duet.

There were so many stars that night, it was really like being in the outback again.


Day 2: Katherine - Tennant Creek
On the second day, we drove from Katherine to Tennant Creek. About an hour out of Katherine, we spent a few enjoyable hours at Bitter springs, my favourite spring in Mataranka.

Again it was pretty much deserted, and we chatted with a Canadian couple from near Windsor, Ontario. The water was incredibly clear like the other times I've been, the underwater grass bright and lively.

It was also water lily season, and we saw these lilies everywhere in the Top End.

Even managed to drop Pengy into bitter spring whilst trying to take a photo..

We stopped off in Daly Waters for lunch next to the wrecked plane, then powered through all the way to Tennant Creek. I had forgotten how much of a hole Tennant is - we basically moved our things inside and stayed inside. Outside felt pretty scary, with lots of youths wandering the streets and shouting at each other. It didn't help that our motel was right behind a bottle shop.


Day 3:  Tennant Creek - Alice Springs

On the third day, we drove from Tennant to Alice. This was quite a leisurely day, and we stopped off at the Devil's marbles for a while.

We passed by this place last time but didn't stop for much more than a photo. It has since been revamped as a tourist attraction with a proper parking lot and walking trails. We were also lucky that a big tour bus had just left as we were pulling in, so we again had the whole place pretty much to ourselves. These rocks were formed by the erosion of weather, and are a great reminder of just how harsh the desert is. Huge round boulders of every shape and size are dotted across the landscape, a pretty mysterious sight.

Some of the rocks were cracked and growing grass!

One of the best things about going on a long road trip is seeing the transition of landscapes. As we drove south, the tropics receded away and the desert crept upon us. Before we knew it, that lush vibrant green of the wet season had gone and we were amongst the dry sparse desert of central Australia. Devil’s marbles were really the beginning of that type of desert colours coming through, and we also adored the desert wildflowers around there.

 

In Alice, it felt like the real desert. The air was so dry here, and the landscapes felt broader than ever.

Day 4:  Alice Springs 

On the fourth day, we took a day trip out to the West Macdonnell ranges. 

Simpson’s gap is a spectacular break in a never-ending mountain range.

 It made one wonder – why is there a gap right there and not anywhere else? And how can water be so powerful and destructive? 

Later we visited Ellery big hole, where I had hoped to swim, but the water was far too cold.

I adore the red rock of the desert. It feels to me like the real Australia.

Day 5:  Alice Springs - Coober Pedy 

Erldunda roadhouse is quite a sight – heaps of tour buses congregate here and as a result the shop at the servo is crowded with the middle aged khaki cut-off crowd. There is even an emu farm for extra brownie points. I don’t remember it being so well-done-up the last time we were in the area, but I guess it brings in plenty of cash when it charges close to $2/L for unleaded petrol. 

Heading further south, the drive is through fairly barren land. The trees get shorter and shorter until they are shrubs, and finally very little grass at all. Rocks dot the horizon for as long as one can see. We spied a dingo, a wild camel, and finally a wild emu. The wild emu is lean with impossibly long legs, it has a spirit so totally different to the fat lazy emus at Erldunda roadhouse. It sees us coming and starts to run, the strides increasing in length as it bounds away from us at an incredible speed. We were really struck by the sight of this beautiful creature.

Dream: lost in Japan

(Many of my dreams seem to be set in Japan... I'm not really sure why!)
This was a very perplexing dream that I had on the first night back in Sydney.

It starts off with me in a taxi. It's hard to tell where you are - most taxis around the world look the same. I'm sitting in the backseat and I cannot see the driver's face. I look back through the window and see P trying to catch up with the taxi, running as fast as he can and pausing to catch his breath sometimes. I tell the driver to slow down and he intermittently slows enough for P to catch up, close enough that I can see his face. But then we turn the corner and we go too fast, turn another corner and he is gone. I tell the driver to slow down again, but we have properly lost him.

Then, P is driving my Mazda and I am running behind him. There is a rope which is attached to the car, which is one of those soft expandable ropes. I pull myself up as I run, getting closer to the car sometimes and further at other times when it strains my hands terribly to hold onto the rope. I try to run faster so that I can get closer to the car, but it is harder and harder to catch up. The rope burns and my hands sting sharply with the abrasive pain. With an acceleration, the rope is pulled out from my hands and I am lost.

Then, I am in a large intersection, like the ones in Japan where there are 5 or 6 roads converging in the one place. I am convinced that the place is actually in Japan, though there are no obvious visual cues. I look around and there are hundreds of people in the intersection. My eyes scan the crowd, though it's not clear what I'm looking for.

I see a tall man who looks like P and when I look closer.. it is not him, but a much rounder larger man. Some time later I see another tall man who looks like P from the back, but when he turns around.. it is not him, but a similar guy with a big full beard (something that he never has!). Then after some time, I see another man who looks like him. I run across the road and it really is him. We start talking and after some time I reach out to touch his face, and it is absolutely stone cold and covered in sweat. I start to think about whether he could be sick - how could his face be so cold?

I don't really remember what we are discussing now, but it is all about the relationship. At some point I say to him emphatically I just don't know how you could lose faith in us. My voice is raised and he looks at me pointedly. Then he says keep it down, we are in a train station. And I wake up. 

In My Kitchen: April 2018

In my kitchen, this month even more than usual, it's all about my beloved Barney. When people at work hear about Barney, they usually think it's my child.. and when they realise it's not, they think it's my pet dog or rabbit... and when they realise it's not, they are usually very confused. Needless to say, all my friends and colleagues know who Barney is now! My beloved sourdough starter, born 11 June 2017 on my benchtop in Rapid Creek .

He makes quite a handsome loaf now, coming a long way since his early days. Flavour wise, he has improved immensely since the fridge died while I was away. He ate himself and I think all the non-strong yeast cultures must have died.

Barney was truly delicious with a cheese fondue.

I made these Barney cheesymite scrolls before we went to Timor Leste - it was hard to resist eating the whole pan fresh out of the oven.

It was also my first time making hot cross buns, which of course had to be B buns.

We did some non traditional things with Barney, like barmplings - surprisingly good! The skins were chewy but light. 

My farewell party also featured Barney in the form of woodfire pizza - 150g of Barney made 4kg of dough!

Getting the heat just right was hard with all the wood off to one side of the oven, but everyone loved Barney anyway.

We also enjoyed this amazing bountiful produce from my dad's garden in Sydney when I went back briefly - so many bitter melons, tomatoes and random leaves.

And finally, a strange stringy vegetable I saw at Rapid Creek markets, which was delicious in soup. 

 This is my first time contributing to In my kitchen hosted by Sherry's Pickings

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.