And now for something completely different: Travel Tales Tuesday!
A friend of mine used to keep a blog where, amongst other things, she told stories of her travel adventures most Thursdays. J, I don't know if you still drop in here to read occasionally, but if you do I hope you don't mind I'm stealing your tradition and making one change: for maximum alliteration it's going to be Travel Tales Tuesday. I don't know if I'll do it every week, but I aim to.
I'm going to kick this new tradition off with my recent trip to visit Mark's family. This is partly because it's easy, being fresh in my mind, and partly because there's a lot of things I haven't written here over the last few years and I'll have to put at least some of them down in order to tell this particular story.
On Christmas night we left our house at about 9pm to begin our trip to Bermagui. Never heard of it? Neither had I until Mark's family moved there a few years back. Here, have a map:
View Larger Map
In order to get there, we have to fly to Sydney and then take a coach down the coast. It's usually pleasant enough in a dull kind of way. The redeye flight and waiting around in Sydney airport for three hours til the coach comes is the worst of it, but then there's a nice stretch of watching the countryside go by and stopping in small towns for lunch/afternoon tea before we arrive in the early evening.
This time, we had a few complications on the way. Our plane had to land in Adelaide on the way because we had a passenger become very ill. Once landed, we needed to wait until the airport's curfew was over before we could take off for Sydney again. We were worried that we wouldn't get there in time to catch the coach, but it was actually perfect timing. We collected our bags and got out to the collection point with about ten minutes to spare. And then we waited. And waited. And... waited. Eventually the coach pulled up and the driver hopped off. We recognised him from previous trips. He was the driver we liked best, because he was much friendlier than some of the others.
We stood up, grabbed our bags and went to speak to him. He did not smile at us. He spoke in a hurry.
"I'm looking for one passenger by the name of [not us]."
Mark and I looked at each other in confusion.
"No," Mark said, "not us"
I drew a breath to say "We have a booking under [Mark's surname]", but before I even opened my mouth the driver was already back on the coach. I stepped forward to speak. The doors closed. He drove away.
He drove away.
After a minute or so of gaping and a few very angry phone calls to the coach company we were eventually apologised to and booked on the next coach - in five hours time. Which didn't even go to Bermagui, but the next town over. And arrived at 10pm... except for how we got stuck in holiday traffic and it was 10.45pm before we got there. Ouch.
This is where I need to stop relating recent events and give a bit of backstory that I haven't written here before. Mark's mum is a very private person. She's not reserved or shy or demure; she's opinionated and irritable and loving and although she can spend long stretches in silence she is, when the mood takes her, quite chatty. She does not ever speak about her health or her body, and aside from telling her children and their partners that she loves us, she never talks about her feelings either.
A little over a year ago, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. They operated successfully, but they had caught it too late. It had metastisised to her liver and it was inoperable and she was told that she had two years to live at the very most, and likely a bit less. When we visited last summer she was obviously in a lot of pain and very depressed, although she never said as much.
At the time, I didn't feel I could write about it. It was too hard to take in, and not mine to write about besides, and there was so much else going on with me and Mark and his family that I couldn't separate out any of it to write down without the entire weight crushing me. And that, dear eljay, is a lot of the reason I haven't been updating much over the last year and a bit.
Fast forward to July last year, when R had been treated with chemo and radiation and goodness knows what else for several months with the goal of prolonging life just a little. Mark went to visit her again on his own (I couldn't get time off), and things were looking very bad. She was sick, bald, depressed, and hadn't left the house except to visit doctors since January. But then, against all odds the doctors announced they could not find any tumors. The treatment was far more successful than anybody's wildest predictions, and as long as the cancer doesn't return then she's going to be okay.
I can't find any words to explain the relief mixed in with the lingering worry that marked the second half of last year, so - back to the travel tale.
Having been on the go for almost 26 hours by this stage, Mark and I were both exhausted when we stumbled off the coach, as well as anxious and excited to see R. I almost cried with relief when she came up and hugged us, tight and strong, with her short hair tickling my cheek.
There were hugs from Mark's dad and grandma too, and then we all piled into the car and drove down to their place, where we all very sleepily drank tea and exclaimed a bit more about how good it was to see each other before turning in.
While we were there, we spent the vast majority of our time at home. It's a beautiful property in the middle of the forest, full of interesting wildlife, and with a view over the river. I didn't take any pictures this year, but I have a few from past visits that show how lovely it is.
Taken from ~20m in front of the house, down the hill a little
Taken during a walk through the forest
For the first week of our stay, Mark's sister K and her partner T were also visiting, and we spent some lovely afternoons playing cards, gasbagging, vegging out with books and laptops in silent companionship and taking turns to cook enough food to keep all seven of us more than satisfied. One of the best parts of this is that T is Greek and an amazing cook, so I learned some nifty tricks from him including how to make a delicious eggplant dip.
In the second week of our stay, we kept mostly to the same patterns minus the card games and with a little less cooking since there were only five of us. A couple of times we went into town for coffee in the morning where I very bravely resisted eating the best danish pastries in the entire world at the patisserie. (Detail from last year I haven't written: I have stopped eating gluten wherever possible and I feel much better for it.) Another time, I went with R to visit a friend of hers who had just finished a very impressive quilt that she wanted to show off. On this occasion, R was making her first outside trip without a hat since chemo. She was a bit anxious about it because she hates the idea of being pitied or having people comment on her health or her body in any way, but off we went and saw the quilt (which was indeed impressive) and when her friend saw the very short hair she made no comment at all. We all decided to go for a coffee and yak about crafty things, and on the way we seemed to collect more and more ladies who were out and about and looking to gasbag. We ended up taking over half the patisserie's indoor space with an assortment of women nearing or past retirement age, all of them with their grey hair and no makeup and wearing clothes that were last fashionable in the early 90s. It was so comfortable and friendly in a way that I've never seen outside of a small town- definitely a good way to spend a morning!
Mark and I also took the kayaks out on the river a few times. It was lovely weather for it, and the scenery never disappoints. The birds flit around through the mangroves, the hills rise up on either side covered in eucalyptus forest, and most of the time there's not another person nor any sign of civilisation in sight. You can drift and close your eyes and listen to the breeze in the trees and the birdsong and the little lapping wavelets, and it's so very peaceful. There's something about the golden light on the green trees and the smell of saltwater and eucalyptus that makes me feel so alive and content in my soul.
These are some pictures I took last year while we were kayaking. We took a different route this time, but it looks quite similar.
This is R helping to launch Mark's kayak
Sometimes you see little stingrays on the bottom of the river. This year I didn't spot any, but here's a fellow I saw last time:
And once again I need to take a break from the story of this trip and do some explaining about what's been going on in my life.
I reached a decision early last year that I cannot continue living in Perth. After returning from Fiji and feeling disconnected and useless and trapped here, I made the decision that come hell or high water I was getting outta here, at least for a little while. I'm broke though, and it will take a lot of saving up to make this happen. And here's the other thing: Mark doesn't want to leave. Well, after conversations and hugs and arguments and tears and more hugs, we decided that since our dreams lie in different directions maybe our lives should too. I cannot be happy here, and I have always wanted to live overseas for a year or two. He would end up resenting leaving the life he has built here to follow my dream. And so we decided that when I leave, we will split up. Until then we are still together, and we still love each other, although with all the ups and downs we've had (and there have been more downs than I could write about here in the last few years) it's not the same as we thought it would be when we got together. We were so young and naive, and a lot about us has changed in the almost eight years we've been together.
And so this trip to see Mark's family might have been the last time I will ever see them.
I love Mark's family. They took me in when my own were literally driving me crazy. They have loved me and cared for me and been there for me. R has knitted me scarves and beanies and blankets and beaded jewellery for me and everything she makes is a work of art. They have taught me so much about so many things. They've never been less than wonderful to me. I love them dearly.
On the last night of our stay I couldn't sleep. I was trying not to cry and crying anyway from the moment my head hit the pillow. In the morning when they saw us off, I smiled at them probably a little too hard and hugged them maybe a bit too long and didn't cry until after the coach pulled away and I couldn't see them waving any more.
I will miss them so very much.
So long, Bermagui. I hope I see you again one day.
I'm going to kick this new tradition off with my recent trip to visit Mark's family. This is partly because it's easy, being fresh in my mind, and partly because there's a lot of things I haven't written here over the last few years and I'll have to put at least some of them down in order to tell this particular story.
On Christmas night we left our house at about 9pm to begin our trip to Bermagui. Never heard of it? Neither had I until Mark's family moved there a few years back. Here, have a map:
View Larger Map
In order to get there, we have to fly to Sydney and then take a coach down the coast. It's usually pleasant enough in a dull kind of way. The redeye flight and waiting around in Sydney airport for three hours til the coach comes is the worst of it, but then there's a nice stretch of watching the countryside go by and stopping in small towns for lunch/afternoon tea before we arrive in the early evening.
This time, we had a few complications on the way. Our plane had to land in Adelaide on the way because we had a passenger become very ill. Once landed, we needed to wait until the airport's curfew was over before we could take off for Sydney again. We were worried that we wouldn't get there in time to catch the coach, but it was actually perfect timing. We collected our bags and got out to the collection point with about ten minutes to spare. And then we waited. And waited. And... waited. Eventually the coach pulled up and the driver hopped off. We recognised him from previous trips. He was the driver we liked best, because he was much friendlier than some of the others.
We stood up, grabbed our bags and went to speak to him. He did not smile at us. He spoke in a hurry.
"I'm looking for one passenger by the name of [not us]."
Mark and I looked at each other in confusion.
"No," Mark said, "not us"
I drew a breath to say "We have a booking under [Mark's surname]", but before I even opened my mouth the driver was already back on the coach. I stepped forward to speak. The doors closed. He drove away.
He drove away.
After a minute or so of gaping and a few very angry phone calls to the coach company we were eventually apologised to and booked on the next coach - in five hours time. Which didn't even go to Bermagui, but the next town over. And arrived at 10pm... except for how we got stuck in holiday traffic and it was 10.45pm before we got there. Ouch.
This is where I need to stop relating recent events and give a bit of backstory that I haven't written here before. Mark's mum is a very private person. She's not reserved or shy or demure; she's opinionated and irritable and loving and although she can spend long stretches in silence she is, when the mood takes her, quite chatty. She does not ever speak about her health or her body, and aside from telling her children and their partners that she loves us, she never talks about her feelings either.
A little over a year ago, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. They operated successfully, but they had caught it too late. It had metastisised to her liver and it was inoperable and she was told that she had two years to live at the very most, and likely a bit less. When we visited last summer she was obviously in a lot of pain and very depressed, although she never said as much.
At the time, I didn't feel I could write about it. It was too hard to take in, and not mine to write about besides, and there was so much else going on with me and Mark and his family that I couldn't separate out any of it to write down without the entire weight crushing me. And that, dear eljay, is a lot of the reason I haven't been updating much over the last year and a bit.
Fast forward to July last year, when R had been treated with chemo and radiation and goodness knows what else for several months with the goal of prolonging life just a little. Mark went to visit her again on his own (I couldn't get time off), and things were looking very bad. She was sick, bald, depressed, and hadn't left the house except to visit doctors since January. But then, against all odds the doctors announced they could not find any tumors. The treatment was far more successful than anybody's wildest predictions, and as long as the cancer doesn't return then she's going to be okay.
I can't find any words to explain the relief mixed in with the lingering worry that marked the second half of last year, so - back to the travel tale.
Having been on the go for almost 26 hours by this stage, Mark and I were both exhausted when we stumbled off the coach, as well as anxious and excited to see R. I almost cried with relief when she came up and hugged us, tight and strong, with her short hair tickling my cheek.
There were hugs from Mark's dad and grandma too, and then we all piled into the car and drove down to their place, where we all very sleepily drank tea and exclaimed a bit more about how good it was to see each other before turning in.
While we were there, we spent the vast majority of our time at home. It's a beautiful property in the middle of the forest, full of interesting wildlife, and with a view over the river. I didn't take any pictures this year, but I have a few from past visits that show how lovely it is.
Taken from ~20m in front of the house, down the hill a little
Taken during a walk through the forest
For the first week of our stay, Mark's sister K and her partner T were also visiting, and we spent some lovely afternoons playing cards, gasbagging, vegging out with books and laptops in silent companionship and taking turns to cook enough food to keep all seven of us more than satisfied. One of the best parts of this is that T is Greek and an amazing cook, so I learned some nifty tricks from him including how to make a delicious eggplant dip.
In the second week of our stay, we kept mostly to the same patterns minus the card games and with a little less cooking since there were only five of us. A couple of times we went into town for coffee in the morning where I very bravely resisted eating the best danish pastries in the entire world at the patisserie. (Detail from last year I haven't written: I have stopped eating gluten wherever possible and I feel much better for it.) Another time, I went with R to visit a friend of hers who had just finished a very impressive quilt that she wanted to show off. On this occasion, R was making her first outside trip without a hat since chemo. She was a bit anxious about it because she hates the idea of being pitied or having people comment on her health or her body in any way, but off we went and saw the quilt (which was indeed impressive) and when her friend saw the very short hair she made no comment at all. We all decided to go for a coffee and yak about crafty things, and on the way we seemed to collect more and more ladies who were out and about and looking to gasbag. We ended up taking over half the patisserie's indoor space with an assortment of women nearing or past retirement age, all of them with their grey hair and no makeup and wearing clothes that were last fashionable in the early 90s. It was so comfortable and friendly in a way that I've never seen outside of a small town- definitely a good way to spend a morning!
Mark and I also took the kayaks out on the river a few times. It was lovely weather for it, and the scenery never disappoints. The birds flit around through the mangroves, the hills rise up on either side covered in eucalyptus forest, and most of the time there's not another person nor any sign of civilisation in sight. You can drift and close your eyes and listen to the breeze in the trees and the birdsong and the little lapping wavelets, and it's so very peaceful. There's something about the golden light on the green trees and the smell of saltwater and eucalyptus that makes me feel so alive and content in my soul.
These are some pictures I took last year while we were kayaking. We took a different route this time, but it looks quite similar.
This is R helping to launch Mark's kayak
Sometimes you see little stingrays on the bottom of the river. This year I didn't spot any, but here's a fellow I saw last time:
And once again I need to take a break from the story of this trip and do some explaining about what's been going on in my life.
I reached a decision early last year that I cannot continue living in Perth. After returning from Fiji and feeling disconnected and useless and trapped here, I made the decision that come hell or high water I was getting outta here, at least for a little while. I'm broke though, and it will take a lot of saving up to make this happen. And here's the other thing: Mark doesn't want to leave. Well, after conversations and hugs and arguments and tears and more hugs, we decided that since our dreams lie in different directions maybe our lives should too. I cannot be happy here, and I have always wanted to live overseas for a year or two. He would end up resenting leaving the life he has built here to follow my dream. And so we decided that when I leave, we will split up. Until then we are still together, and we still love each other, although with all the ups and downs we've had (and there have been more downs than I could write about here in the last few years) it's not the same as we thought it would be when we got together. We were so young and naive, and a lot about us has changed in the almost eight years we've been together.
And so this trip to see Mark's family might have been the last time I will ever see them.
I love Mark's family. They took me in when my own were literally driving me crazy. They have loved me and cared for me and been there for me. R has knitted me scarves and beanies and blankets and beaded jewellery for me and everything she makes is a work of art. They have taught me so much about so many things. They've never been less than wonderful to me. I love them dearly.
On the last night of our stay I couldn't sleep. I was trying not to cry and crying anyway from the moment my head hit the pillow. In the morning when they saw us off, I smiled at them probably a little too hard and hugged them maybe a bit too long and didn't cry until after the coach pulled away and I couldn't see them waving any more.
I will miss them so very much.
So long, Bermagui. I hope I see you again one day.