Walking on hallowed ground

One of the surprises of returning to Sydney - one of the joys that I forgot existed - is the glory that is a jacaranda tree in November. Relax, I'm not about to launch into my usual saga of effusiveness about beauty... I'll keep it short and punchy. All Australians know the surprising soul-soothe that is a bold big jacaranda tree, so startlingly purple that is literally takes your breath away. And non-Australians reading this, well, you just need to ensure you visit during late October to witness the spectacle.

What I am particularly relishing is the walk up to my flat. I live in the most delightful spot - at the end of a road avenued by lush green trees and framed with elegant terraces laced with pretty bouganvillea. Just when you think you are almost at the end of the street, the terraces end, and instead you get a sweeping view of the city skyline, the Harbour Bridge, Opera House, and vibrantly blue Harbour waters. You walk on, and then the road ends, and a pedestrian-way begins. That is where the glory truly culminates for me. The border of my property is full of honeysuckle, and with the warmth in the air, the scents escape and tantalise you. Suddenly rendered intoxicated, you then notice the jacaranda. There are two, actually, but one is literally over the entraceway to the property. And over the last few days, the flowers have started to shed. What this means, is you feel you are some martyred queen of the floral kingdom, and invisible nymphs have scattered jacaranda blossoms for your royal feet to tread upon. It almost feels like hallowed grounds. You arch your head back in wonder, and then see the arching glory of the blossoms above you. You are encased in purple, still slightly drunk from the honeysuckle scents, and you literally feel you have entered another sphere of existence. Its wonderful.

Then I finish the walk into my flat by passing lush tropical palms and ferns... and then of course the beauty stops as I tread upon the distinctly unappealing carpet of my building foyer, but its ok, I'm still in a giddy stupor from the jacarandas... How on earth will I cope when their floral reign ends??

Spring is here!

Well, its official. Spring has finally arrived, and what a difference it makes to just about everything! There is a bounce to everyone's step. Everyone looks just that little bit more beautiful. There are scents in the air that do strange things to you. The atmosphere is comfortingly warm, but still excitingly brisk. I had forgotten how much I passionately adore the month of September. I remember in my childhood, all my innocent fantasties about dashing otherworly adventures were inspired in September, all my youthful stirrings of feelings were sparked by September... then as an adult, it held the promise of things to come. Its funny isn't it, that the promise of things to come can be better than the realisation of those things... in this case I mean Summer. Summer is festive, but overbearing, and this year is set to be a startler. Nevertheless, the promise of Summer is enough to make loins stir and excitement swirl. Its a glorious time!

Snap Shot City

Last weekend I entered a photo treasure hunt very last minute. It was a global competition called Snap Shot City, where entrants from all over the world downloaded at the same time a list of 24 random expressions, that had to be photographed in 6 hours.

The aim of the game was to find something clever, ironic, and quintessiantally representative of your city in your composition. The challenge was you had to upload 8 very 2 hours. Which is quite a challenge.

Now as you all know, I love a good challenge, particularly if it is a type of puzzle. Gets my juices flowing. So this was right up my alley. However, I was a teensy bit distraught when I surveyed the list of topics we had to photograph. They were totally random things like "Treasure everywhere", "One too many" and "Fighting chance". And the clock was ticking...

We split up into two teams, so I set off with Damien and Sean, on what was possibly the most beautiful day we had had in Sydney in months. Perfect weather, a black Saab convertible, two of my best friends. And a puzzle. I couldn't have been happier!

Of course, 90 minutes later when we had not found too much of inspirational, and we had 5 minutes to whizz down Oxford Street, restart Damo's computer, and upload 5 photos... we started to panic a little (well, I started to panic a little, Sean had a nap on the sofa, and Damien got himself something to eat, but that just describes us normally).

Anyway, as is normal for any tense technical situation, Damien's laptop chose that moment to decide life was too hard, and it crashed inexplicably. So daunted, we called the other team, confessed we had failed them, and when they didn't sound awfully bothered, we got back in the car, and drove to Bondi Beach. And got ice-cream. And followed cute boys. As you do.

We managed to get more great photos, and then whipped back to my flat to take what may well win the entire competition.

Because you see, despite our nonchalance (yes, I gave up my competitiveness due to the lure of sun, beach, and the fact our other team members were even more competitive than me, so I left them to it), our team did amazingly well! We got the news today that our team was one of the teams with the most photos in the shortlisted photos! We may well win the competition!!

So here now, are the best photos we took, by theme and the caption we gave them (the ones with asterixs are the ones I took - yes, shameless self-promotions):

Theme: Boys*
Caption: "Do you think those
tits are real?"

Theme: Pleasure Palace*

Caption: "If you don't buy me that,
I'll kill myself!"

Theme: Kindness of Strangers

Theme: Red shoes
Caption: In some ways I regret buying them

Theme: Shout it from the rooftops*
Caption: "I love this city!"

Theme: Girls*

Caption: "Goddamn it just help me find my

contact lenses!"

Theme: Treasure everywhere*

Theme: Getting around

Caption: Australians embracing an oil

free future, and don't forget the milk.

6 people in the bush

What happens when you take 3 gay men, 2 princesses, and a very open-minded guy, out to the bush for the weekend? Well, surprisingly, lots of very sedate fun!

Damien, Sean, Broc, Richard, Sunita and me, went this past weekend to Leura in the Blue Mountains. Here in Australia, because we don't have our Christmas during the cold time of year, we have this amusing semi-event called Christmas-in-July. Its a chance to do Christmasy things at a time when you can light a fire, cook a roast, and feel all festive. As my little group have all lived in the UK for part of our lives, there is something that draws us to these crisp climates and cosy environments. Besides, we wanted a little holiday, and there is nothing better than a weekend in the Mountains.

I found this incredible place to rent in Leura called the Mountain Ark, and we instantly knew we found our surrogate home. Arriving there late on Friday night, we knew we had struck it lucky. The Ark was stunning, originally designed, so cute and cosy, and so remote and quiet. It was heavenly.

The weekend was divine fun. Is there anything better than going on adventures with your best friends? We did everything one does on a weekend away: drank bucket loads of lovely wine, spent hours cooking a lamb roast, snacked on endless amounts of junk food, watched DVDs, read trashy magazines, went on long walks through picturesque Leura, had giggly lunches in cute cafes, raided the Leura lolly shop, and most importantly relaxed with each other. I think I had a permanent grin on my face, and my sides ached from endless laughter. What a privilege to have such funny, adventurous friends!

Funniest moments: realising you should never send me and Richard to shop together, as we have no self-control and end up with more food than an army could eat in a week; debating over who was going to sleep in the outside studio, and then agreeing we all would so no one would be left out; coming home after lunch in Leura only to discover that Sean had locked our keys inside, and we were trapped outside in the cold! (luckily Richard could break in through the window); Richard's gloopy glue-like potato mash (that was a nightmare to wash up!); watching Broc take more photos of himself than some super-models do in a lifetime; oh, so many moments.

My beautiful mother

I have easily the most incredible mother. Its a big call, as there are no doubt plenty of incredible mothers out there. But I keep being blown away by how generous, loving and accepting she is. And after 5 years of living on the other side of the world to her, its such a gift to now have her in my life again. In fact, the major reason I came home was because it was important to me to spend time with family, and that decision, although difficult for many reasons, has validated itself again and again. Its just so nice to be spoilt now and then. Living in London, without family, one had to develop a hard-skin, a fierce independence, a self-reliance that can be exhausting after a while. So to return and find that I could actually give up a bit of control, and trust that someone else would pick me up if I fell, and do such sweet kind surprising things for me, was just extraordinary. So, it was a wonderful opportunity to give a little back when it was Mum's 60th birthday a few weeks ago. My sister Cath and I organised part of the evening that Mum knew about, and then we organised the first part that she didn't know anything about. The bit she knew about was dinner at a Greek restaurant in Glebe with a few of Mum's friends. The bit she didn't know about was an evening of decadance she had never experienced - to make her feel like the queen she really is. First, we got Dad to get her ready several hours before she expected to. Then, Cath, Demis and I picked her up in a stretch limo, with champagne and a white chocolate cake. We then drove around for an hour, along the Haberfield bay, up to Observatory Hill, across the Harbour Bridge, and then down to Kirribilli point to see the Harbour pre-sunset. It was unspeakably magical. To see my mother come out of our childhood house, agape with awe at seeing this vehicle of luxury in our neighbourhood, and then her almost cry as she saw her kids waiting in surprise in the limo singing happy birthday. And my heart ached with joy to see her and Dad clasping hands, Mum so overcome with emotion and pride and love for her family she could hardly speak. But the fun wasn't over yet. We then drove back over the Harbour Bridge to the Shangri-La Hotel, and took Mum up to the top floor where one of Sydney's best cocktail lounges awaited us. We sat by the window, and watched the sunset over all of Sydney, while we all had cocktails, crab, oysters, and prawns. Hideously expensive, but worth every cent to make Mum feel special. Finally it was time to start the known part of the night, and meet our parent's friends for dinner. By this time I was rather tipsy and so full, but we powered on through more delicious food and wine til we almost ruptured. But it was wonderful fun, and looking at my mother's beautiful face, I was overwhelmed with pride and love for a woman who has taught me the meaning of family, loyalty, and love. I tell you, if I look anywhere near as good as my mother does when I am 60, I will be hugely pleased!

My half year back home

As discussed a few entries previously, I have a thing about anniversaries. Last week it was a year since I left London. Yesterday was 6 months since I arrived back in Sydney. Two rather signficant events in the space of a week... my over-developed sense of nostalgia is in overdrive.

When I first arrived in London, I really didn't like it. I missed home, family, my boyfriend at the time, warmth, seafood, smiles... I just wasn't sure I made the right decision in going to London, particularly when my father developed the need to have a quadruple heart by-pass, and I couldn't get a job for months. It was a miserable time, and I spent much of it on the phone to friends and boyfriend and family, half-living my life in Sydney.

I had friends in London, and I made acquaintances fairly quickly, and life was very pleasant after a while, but I just didn't feel settled. Things changed 6 months on. I met Debbie in a club. Sean met Damien, and the two of them met me. I met Philippa. Life suddenly became spectacular. Suddenly the fact that I didn't love my job didn't matter. I stopped worrying about my ambitions and life plan and what I wasn't achieving. And I had a brilliant time. I had the time of my life. My 'London experience' became everything my wildly optimistic dreams hoped it would be. We partied and laughed and explored and cried and had dramas and danced and danced and danced. And then something unexpected happened. In the midst of falling in love with my friends, I fell in utter love with London.

That dirty grimey cold super-fast expensive city, became glamorous and exciting and full of promise and varied and beautiful. And you know what, London loved me. It was my home, and although it had its faults, it was my home.

In March of 2002, 9 months after arriving in London, I went to Sydney for a friends wedding. It was a symbolic return (me and my bloody symbolism...) as it was originally going to be my permanent return: I had come to London only expecting to stay for 9 months. But London had sunk her laced claws into me, and I willingly submitted. I had decided to stay a little longer in London, and so return home had became just a trip to Sydney.

And I had a brilliant time. I loved seeing my friends and family, visiting my old haunts, eating as much seafood and fresh thai as I could... I started to waver... maybe I should return to Sydney, why was I in London so far from it all?

But by the end of that visit, I had come to a realisation. I loved Sydney. It held so much for me. But those things wouldn't change. Right now, my destiny and joy lay in London, and so I would return. And I would stop living with my feet in both countries, and firmly and deliberately place both my feet in London, and give it all I had, in the hope it would in return give me all it had.

So the next four years ensued. And there were times I wanted to wring London's neck, when I would gladly have left in a huff, never to return. But then I would leap onto the back of a red double-decker Routemaster, good ol' route 38, and hold on for my dear life, whilst I gazed in never abating wonder at the glorious architecture, and stately homes, the myriad streets and shops and bars and museums that I would never fully finish exploring. And I would smile, and shiver slightly with the thrilling knowledge that I was part of the worlds most exciting city, that I knew her, and loved her despite her faults, or perhaps because of them.

Anyway, the point of this arduous stroll through nostalgia-ville, is that I had been hoping that my return to Sydney would have a similar trajectory: that I would return, feel unsettled for 6 months, and then POW! things would change. Not sure what I was expecting, but as the 6 month mark was yesterday, I keep waiting for that life-altering moment when I feel that same thrill of belonging and of hope.

Well, the hope at least I do feel. The promise of Spring can make hope blossom out of anything, and this will be my first Spring in Sydney in 5 years. And there are enough new and exciting things happening to make me feel hopeful and excited about the near future. So, perhaps its just a matter of time, before the sense of belonging in Sydney returns.

Skiing with the boys

One of the amusing aspects of working in a team where I am the only women, is that when, like a few weeks ago, your company rewards your team with a weekend away in the snow, I have to spend a weekend with 15 very nice, but geeky, men.

Luckily, my intense training after 5 years of being best friends with a large group of gay men has prepared me for this challenge, and I am quite used to being the only woman in a room. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I quite enjoy it. Oh, I do love my women, of course, but men are just so much fun. Even geeky ones.

It was a very pleasant weekend, not as wild as one might imagine it could be, but very amusing and relaxing. Lots of lovely meals and beer and board games and funny chats. Lovely.

The skiing was another story. I am not the most graceful creature in the universe, as my nearest and dearest will attest. If there is something to bump into, break, trip over or drop, I'll do it. So putting me on skiis hurtling down a mountain would not be the kind of thing you readily do, if you cared for me that is. But surprisingly, I did quite well! Of course, I did fall over quite a few times, and my bruises were large and colourful, but I also traversed quite a bit of the mountain, and managed to look vaguely graceful and adept.

I was in a world of pain though on the Monday after we got back. Every muscle in my body was screeching with anger at what they had endured, and even breathing was uncomfortable. But it was nothing a few days of moaning wouldn't solve. tee hee.

One year anniversary

Yesterday was my one year anniversary that I left London.

It really stunned me into humble silence when it occurred to me yesterday. It was also the 37th birthday of Christian Slater. You would have had to know me as a very odd 14 year old girl to understand the significance of this... but I'll just say that I tend to form symbolic attachments to things, and at 14 when I was lonely and poetic and full of dreams, I created a quasi-imaginary friend in the shape of an average movie star who happened to move me in a film. 14 years later, outside a London theatre, I stood in front of Christian Slater, who had just performed in 'One flew over the Cuckoo's Nest', and I contemplated telling him the degree to which my minor obsession defined me as a child, but I wisely giggled to myself, stayed silent, got a photo taken with him, and went home to my normal life.

The coincidences of my life, as many a blog entry in my past details, always seemed to suggest I was on the right path. They represented a beacon of assurance, an encouraging clue guiding me further along the winding path. So when my travel agent arranged my London departure and the start of my odyssey, it seemed movingly right that my departure should coincide with the date I actually used to celebrate as a child. It symbolised for me the culmination of all my youthful passion, belief in magic, in purpose and extraordinariness. I transposed all these values onto the imaginary shoulders of my make-believe Christian Slater... I was an odd child. For three years I celebrated this date as a teenager, until I turned 17, and discovered real-life boys.

But even as an adult, the values I celebrated then are still worth celebrating. It seemed so poetically right that my departure from my London home should start that day. I was setting off for unknown adventures, fulfilling a dream I had harboured most of my life: to explore, to discover, to take bold steps into strange worlds. It was horribly difficult to leave London, a step i still am not totally adjusted to, but the vision that drove me was real, and warranted.

My travels were not in the end everything I thought they would be. Oh, they were incredible, I saw glorious things and had wonderful adventures. But I don't think I found what I was looking for. I am not entirely sure what it was I was looking for, but I just thought I would know it when I found it. I cut my travels short in the end, I just couldn't bear roughing it in Africa any longer, I missed family, and friends, and a sense of home. Little did I realise that my homecoming would in many ways be harder than the travels I was enduring.

Its been almost 6 months that I have been back now. And its been exactly one year I began this journey. What is it about anniversaries us as humans treasure so? I guess there is some primal urge in us to pay homage to symbols of meaning. And a year on, I pay homage to the fire that drove me from my comfortable life in London, and set me off by myself into the world, and to a new life on the other side of the planet. I didn't find the Answers I thought I needed, but I did realise one important thing. On that bloody mountain in Africa, I learnt about acceptance, patience, and humility. I may not have perfectly manifested those values yet, but I am at least aware that it is what I need to do. So perhaps, a year on, 14 years on, these can now be the values I celebrate, and aspire to, every August 18th.

Clay pigeons and magical creatures

What an extraordinary day today has been!

The day began with an 11am beer on a large boat on the harbour. That heralded a fairly interesting start. It swiftly followed with the most surprising activity I have ever partaken in: laser clay pigeon shooting! Imagine proper rifles that have been remodelled on the inside to shoot laser pulses. Then imagine small fluoro disks that were flung out from the boat by a mechanical sling. And then imagine five people at a time shooting this disk with laser rifles from the edge of the boat in the harbour near Taronga Zoo. A scoreboard above us was able to record whether we had each hit the 'pigeon', thereby turning it into a competition. It was extraordinary: one second I'm drinking champagne with strawberries on a boat, the next I look like a redneck roo shooter.

And that wasn't all. After the skeet shooting, we then played a game of golf over the edge of the boat as well. We had to fit a floating flag with a golf ball, while a man in a rubber dingy scooped up the floating balls. Extraordinary! I have to say, I suspected there would be activities on this team day out, but never would I have guessed either activity!

Lunch was a smorgasboard of smoked salmon, prawns and oysters... the wine and champagne flowed... the winter day was hot and idyllic. I could not have asked for a better day.

Except, it was then capped by a perfect night. I went to the Cirque du Soleil show of Varekai, and I am in awe at how they continually manage to exceed expectations. Somehow, those shows always send me off into a reverie of fantasy and painful beauty. I yearn to be a magical creature that can fly and is impossibly wild and lovely. I ache with the glory of the music and the grace and the super-human prowess of it all. Aah, what a night.

And hilariously, I knew half the audience! Well, 6 anyway... turns out Optus was sponsoring the event, and as I do a lot of work with Optus, I recognised loads of people, plus bumped into Tamzin and Vesa (for the second time randomly in a week!). Well, as I always say, coincidences usually are a sign you are on the right path...

So now I stumble into bed, spent after a glorious day. Who would have thought that a day could contain both rifles and trapeze acts? Extraordinary!

Living alone

Here are my thoughts on living alone, now that I have been doing so for about 3 months:
1. I love walking around naked. It doesn't matter that almost every wall of my flat is made of glass or mirror. Let the large Navy vessels full of seamen see me if they wish. I love walking around naked.
2. I am not a great singer. But goodness its fun trying. I actually make myself giggle with how bad I am. And that is just great fun.
3. TV is your friend. When you are used to partners or friends to chat to when you are home, living alone can be awfully silent if you don't accept the TV as a surrogate friend. I have the added (bad) habit of using the Sleep function on my TV: I set it to turn off in 3o minutes, so I have the lulling noise of late night television to send me to sleep each night.
4. Cooking for one is a pain in the ass. You either have to invite someone over, or cook with the intention of having the left-overs for lunch or dinner the next day. It can make for a not very entertaining palate, which for me, is quite dire. So, I eat out a lot, or have friends over, or try to cook meals I don't mind eating a few times a week.
5. As a continuation of the previous point, I waste a lot of food. I do my occasional supermarket shop, buy a packet of this, a bunch of that, but then find that my one cooked meal at home a week doesn't use up all the ingredients, and by the time I get around to cooking another meal that requires those ingredients, they have gone off. I end up throwing away perfectly good food. It drives me insane.
6. I think I am learning patience and humility, hopefully. Not sure why living alone might aid in this, but it does.
7. I love my home. For the first time ever, my home is my home. I put up whatever photos I want, I arrange the furniture how I want, I can leave my shoes and handbags in the corridor without feeling guilt... I answer to no-one (except my mother, who somehow still can sense if I haven't tidied up, but oh well, that's what mothers do) and I truly am mad about that sense of solidarity and freedom.

My pot of gold at the end of the rainbow

The degree of luck and joy I feel I have found in my new little flat in Potts Point was reflected beautifully one morning by a rainbox ending just outside my window. A pot of gold indeed it did lead to, but rather than coins, my pot is full of hope and glee.

I feel inordinately lucky to have found my little home: I had always dreamed of living in a place with a view, that would inspire and excite and calm me. But unfortunately, views don't come cheap, and as a single lass, they certainly don't come cheap enough. So after several weeks of flat-hunting through dingy shoe boxes and over-priced niches, I was resigned to live in a more modest abode.

So when a random real estate agent called me back from a phone call I don't remember making, it was with reluctance I agreed to view a property he was managing. It was too much, and I was just getting tired of it all. Nevertheless, I arranged to meet him in my lunch break. After all, I did need to move out of my parents house.

Unsurprisingly, I was late to my appointment, so I was literally sprinting down Victoria Street (past all the backpacker hostels) in my heels and pencil skirt, and finally arrived panting and pink to an unexpectedly beautiful part of Sydney. The gorgeous terraces give way to an uninterrupted view of the city skyline and the Harbour Bridge, and there I found what was to be my home.

I knew as soon as I walked in - light poured in through the omnipresent light. Almost every wall was covered in a window or a mirror, which meant not only was it glowing, but besides light, it was also letting in 'the best of Sydney'. What do I mean by this: from my window I see all the things that make Sydney Sydney: the city skyline with the western sky behind it, and its juxtaposition with St Mary's Cathedral and the Domain's verdant greenness; Woolloomooloo Wharf; Harry's Cafe De Wheels; the Opera House, the Harbour Bridge, Fort Denison, the harbour; and Sydney's Navy Base and massive ships. The flat itself is cute and perfect for one. And there is a roof terrace with a pool and BBQ area, with 360 degree views of everything. It is quite spectacular.

I saw the place and loved it, yet managed to contain my excitement enough to determine if the flat was livable: but a quick investigation proved it was: internal laundry, all appliances built-in, tonnes of storage, security building. I had to negotiate on price a little, but once that was done, I was ready to move in.

And it has been heavenly since. I splurged on my furnishings, and have made the flat a real haven. I literally walk in at nights and call out "I love you, little flat! You make me so happy!". I love to laze around, to sit by the window at nights and gaze at the city lights, to watch the sunset behind the Harbour Bridge with a glass of red wine by the poolside terrace, to have friends over and chat for hours on my dining table where ever seat has water views (courtesy of the mirrors!). And especially at this time in my life when I am struggling with so other new challenges, its deeply reassuring and motivating to have a beautiful base that inspires and nourishes me. It truly is a treasure, a pot of gold even, that rainbows can't help but shower with glory.

Settling

Its now been over 3 months since I have settled back in Sydney. Its been unsurprisingly a very eventful time. I wonder if my life will ever be ordinary (I sincerely hope not).

I will spare you the details of what has been a horribly difficult time for me, enough to say that moving countries is not an easy thing to do, and some things that you wish were different have stayed stagnant, and other things that you thought were constants in your life show their weaknesses.

But I climbed Kilimanjaro for goodness sake. I can handle a few life upsets, right? So I start every morning with the wonderful Inaya Day song 'Hold your head up high', and as I stride along Wooloomooloo Wharf, with the sun glinting off the harbour, on my way to work. And I have surrounded myself with wonderful people who make my heart well with joy. The newest of these friends is a girl called Sunita.
I met her on Mardi Gras night at Damien and Sean's house. It was one of those meetings that if she were a guy would have been love at first sight. I seem to have that kind of falling-in-love-with-girl-friends phenomenon with all the women that become my best friends, and with Sunita it was sharper than ever. In fact, I have come to realise she was an angel sent to me from the heavens to help me through challenging times. OK, thats rather cheesy. But sometimes people enter your life that in retrospect you realise were fundamental to your life path.

Within weeks we were camping together, going on road trips together, having adventures. We were each others last-person-to-speak-to-before-you-go-to-sleep. We were able to communicate with just a glance. We had random mussel nights and dressed as porn-stars at gay parties. Sunita made my home-coming not only palatable, but thrilling. She was the element that turning 'settling' into 'scintillating'.

So now I face my life here refreshed. I still miss London terribly, particulary at this time of year when the sun sets at 10:30pm and everyone spins in a heady mania of joy. But you know, I have here in Sydney the things that truly matter: my family that I adore and finally really enjoy spending time with, warmth and sunlight and water and seafood, and of course, almost all my closest friends. All that was left was the determination to make my new reality into something extraordinary and thrilling, and I can now state - with the help of people like Sunita - this is finally happening.

My new baby

The sign of incredible sadness. That I can get so excited by the purchase of an IBM laptop. Yep, call in the undertakers and clowns, I have officially achieved geek status.

Although perhaps not. Interestingly the first thing I did upon its inceptual launch was elect to have a large purple flower on my desktop, and change the colour of the windows title bar to be a pretty teal colour. So there might be hope for me yet!

Geekiness aside, the reason for my laptop purchase is an idealistic one, of the 'if you build it, they will come' school of thought. That is, if I buy a laptop, surely creative and entrepreneurial success will swiftly follow. The plan, of course, was to become a phenomenally famous columnist, novellist and self-made billionairess from my various imagined business ventures, so I figured the first step was buying a computer that would facilitate and inspire such achievements.

Thus, I bought this charming little machine, and therefore, I am now sitting in my room with the shreds of the box it came in scattered around me, typing my inaugural message, a baptism of sorts for my darling laptop.

Will it fall prey to the same obsolescence to which my other vision-inspired purchases have befallen? My top-of-the-range digital camcorder that was supposed to be my vehicle to cinematic heroism before I sold it on ebay a few weeks later for half the cost; my Apple iBook that served more as a DVD player than a laptop after the initial buzz died away; my purchase of several Atkins Diet books to research my revolutionary Atkins Diet based luncheon franchise idea, which were never read; my purchase of several How To Get Published books to achieve the eponymous ends suggested, also never read; my purchase of a gym-oriented MP3 player to inspire my incredible fitness regime, which didn't fit enough songs on it so was never used... the list goes on. I am at risk of having my dreams trigger the same response as Peter's wolf cries.

Notwithstanding this, I continue to have blind faith in myself. I am sure this time I will not fail. Surely all the stars are aligned, my chakras are cleaned, my karma is positive, my feng shui is uncluttered, my mindset is prepared.

And as a worst case, I have a darling new laptop to commiserate me if I fail!

African ambling and killer-Kili

My time in Africa, unsurprisingly, was fraught with drama and adventure.

It started calmly enough: I began on a two week safari trip around Kenya and Tanzania, which was incredible. I saw loads of wildlife including lions, elephants, giraffes, hyenas, hippos, rhinos, cheetahs, etc, and developed new-found respect for the beauty and majesty of all these animals. The landscape is every bit as breathtaking as films and books describe - the sky envelops you with its hugeness, the colours are so intense, the vastness of the land awing.

We visited a few Masai villages, went on walking safaris, shopped in markets. All very fun. Not so fun was the day to day logistics - erecting and dismantling a tent every day, in all sorts of weather conditions... eek. Driving for hours and hours on spine-jarring roads... ouch. Approaching pit toilets in the Serengeti where you could be accosted by marauding lions, or worse, people with bowel problems who missed the pit... urgh. Seeing the poverty and lack of opportunity that affects so many people in Africa... mmm. Still, the woes were a welcome balance, and despite the cliche, were hugely instrumental in highlighting once again to me the blessings of my life.

My next adventure after the safari was to head to the base of Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, where I was to attempt a climb over 6 days. If I thought what I'd been through was tough, nothing prepared me for Kili. Well, the first 4 days were amazing: we hiked for hours each day, up to 7 or 8 in a day, but it was through incredible scenery... rainforest, moorlands, semi-desert... And despite my lack of fitness after 6 months of travelling, I managed really well, I went slow and steady, but with a huge grin on my face, it was exhilerating to be climbing the worlds largest free-standing mountain! The only part I didn't cope well with were the evenings: they were cold, misty, and the camp sites were not always nice. The toilets were frightening.... think pit toilets that were too full and so messy. And of course, everyone got bowel problems, so rushing to the toilets in the middle of the freezing night, hoping you don't fall of a precipice and die, or that you step on anything too awful in the toilets... was horrific. But I coped, and was actually overwhelmed with peace, serenity, insights, and joy during the day, which made up for the unpleasantness of the evenings.

I was in a tour group with one other man, a 54 year old American called Bill, and our entourage of 8 porters plus a guide treated us wonderfully. It was actually great to be around Bill, because for the first time in my life, I understood what my friends must feel like around me: Bill was - believe it or not - more clumsy and dithering than I am! I was the epitome of grace and orderliness in comparison. He dropped things, lost things, took forever to get ready each day, forgot things... I was able to be patient with him, because I saw myself in his behaviour, and let me tell you, I think its taught me to improve! During those 6 days I didn't break or lose or forget anything!

The walk was great fun, lots of rock-climbing, some of it a little scary and precarious, making my heart beat madly and a little whimper escape from my mouth... but all in all I made myself proud with the things I attempted and achieved.

Then the final ascent day came. We were to leave at midnight, walk all night, to arrive at the summit for dawn. We set off, Bill powering on ahead as usual, me slow and steady in the rear. About half way up, my guide stopped and responded to a whistle from Bill's guide. The guide went to investigate, and soon came back with a stumbling Bill. Bill says "Alicia, is that you? I'm BLIND!!!". For some reason, he had suddenly lost all his vision. I suggested he return down, but the guides were gabbering in Swahili, and I was getting cold, so I told them to stay with him, take him down, I would join another group. I joined up with a group of Canadian girls, and proceeded up.

It was absolute torture. Nothing could have prepared me for that final ascent. I could do a few steps at a time, and then I'd stop and gasp for air. We were over 5km above sea level, a high altitude even to professional mountaineers, and it was a miracle I didn't have altitude sickness, but it was hard work climbing up, and it took me forever. I'd sworn to myself beforehand that unless I had altitude sickness, I would make it up, so in the end, I had to push through all the pain, all the cold (I had 6 layers of clothing on top and on bottom), all the heart-wrenching fatigue, and keep going.

After over 8 hours, I made the penultimate peak (a scenic point about an hour from the summit), long after sunrise, but there nonetheless. Then amazingly, five minutes later, Bill stumbles up the mountain with both guides in tow. He looked a fright: his face was literally frozen from all the snot that had seeped down his face, his hands were cramping up into weird shapes, his speech was slurred, and he was still blind! The guides and I tried to get him in shape again, but he was in a rough way. Still, he was determined to make the final ascent to the summit, and the guides seemed to think he'd be ok, so we set off.

It took every fibre of my being to make that final hour walk uphill. I could manage one step at a time, breathing deeply, trying to suck as much oxygen from the air as possible. But finally, after over 9 hours of walking without any sleep beforehand and with a 7 hour walk earlier that day, I reached the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. It was the 25th of January, my 29th birthday. I expected I would feel elated and contemplative of the year to come. Instead, I collapsed on the foot of the sign, and stared dumbly at the ground. I couldn't even look around me. Finally when I had the strength to look around, I burst into hysterical tears, which were actually happy tears. I had made it! I had climbed to 5895 metres above sea level, with no training, no experience, no preparation. I was delighted.

We then had the descent to get through. By this stage Bill was totally blind, and could only proceed with assistance from the guides. It took us hours and hours to descend, by this time I was dehydrated, hungry and exhausted, but had no choice but to continue. 12 hours after we had started our ascent, we returned to camp. I couldn't move or think or do anything but lie on a pile, and Bill was in a worse state. He insisted upon being evacuated, and the process began. He was taken down the mountain in what was effectively a large flat trolley, which was torturous for the poor man.

I made it down the next day (walking), and went to check up on him at the hospital. Thankfully, his eyesight had returned (a symptom of acute altitude sickness), but he was severely dehydrated and sick. That was yesterday. Since then he has slowly gotten better, but it still incredibly weak and ill. As he is travelling alone, our tour guide and myself have been taking care of him, and the people here have been so helpful and kind. Its been quite an experience seeing African hospitals, but in all, he is on the mend, although he is heading back to the US as soon as he can.

He is luckier than others - the guys that came down from the mountain today said one of the climbers died yesterday of altitude sickness at the summit. Its a dangerous pastime, I didn't realise how much before I started, and I count my blessings that I am safe and well.

The other thing I wanted to say, is that during those hard uphill hours, it was two things that kept me going. The first was Bikram Yoga... the breathing exercises from this yoga class were what I suspected might make me process the little oxygen in the air more efficiently, and put me into a zen state of meditation which would consume less valuable energy. And I was right - when my muscles literally wouldn't carry me a step further, I breathed in the bikram way, and suddenly I could walk 100m without stopping. Miraculous.

The second was you guys. To keep me amused, I thought of my friends and family, what they might say to me if they could that minute, what they meant to me, what their smiling faces would look like... and it was my salvation. Thank you all for being there for me, without even knowing it. I felt like the luckiest person in the world to have people like you in my life. I miss you all so much, and despite how much I am enjoying these travels, I am very ready to go home now... I have another 5 weeks here in Africa, then HOME!! Some of you won't be there, in Sydney, but as this experience has taught me, you are all with me always anyway.

I'm a cowgirl!

I had one of the most exhilerating experiences of my life yesterday! I became a cowgirl!

I have been in Dahab for a week now, chilling out, diving, exploring. But I decided on a whim that I would like to go horse-riding. Dahab is surrounded by craggy red mountains, and juxtaposed with the Red Sea's blueness, it makes for breathtaking scenery. I felt very certain that riding a horse through it all would be splendid. So very spontaneously for me, I walked into a safari shop, booked myself in, and the next day turned up ready to ride.

I was to be the only person on this tour. It was me and Paibers, the half-Turkish, half-Egyptian accountant who teaches horse-riding for fun. He allocated me a seemingly docile white horse called Jasmine, and off we ambled out to the desert. Paibers explained to me the philosophy of horse-riding, that its all about the unspoken relationship I build with the horse, how she cares me for, and will take care of me, and I have to show I care for it, but that I am in control too. He taught me the basics of posture and grip, and I felt relatively confident. I had ridden in the past, but very very sporadically and never particularly elegantly. I was determined to improve. But I was still stuck in the beginners trap of holding onto the saddle with my spare hand, in case I lost balance. Paibers persisted in teaching me to let go, and eventually he succeeded.

Within an hour, I had mastered the basics, and suddenly found my balance. I discovered its like riding a bike - it seems ludicrous that you could stay upright on such a precarious contraption, but once you find that balance, its inbuilt. Well, riding was similar to me. Once I had talked myself into overcoming my fear of falling, and once I had learnt how to hold on tight with my thighs, the balance came naturally. Paibers gave me a stick, not to hit darling Jasmine with, but to dangle in her line of sight when I wanted to go faster. Soon, I was galloping wildly through canyons, with my hands up in the air, grinning madly, feeling adrenaline and excitement pulse through me.

It was without a doubt the highlight of my entire holiday so far. Ever since I was a little girl I loved fantasy novels and movies, with the knights on horse-back, and the rebellious damsel galloping alongside, regally yet passionately. That morning, I lived my fantasy. To be galloping so incredibly fast, with no one else around, no other noise but Jasmine's hooves, towering red cliffs on either side of me, discovering hidden oases and rocky valleys. There were moments when I was fixated on the path before me, full of beauty and natural wildness, feeling so free and unburdened and raw, it was unspeakably moving.

I rode for four hours, some of it inland among mountains, some of it on the beach. At one stage, while we were walking slowly to give the horses a break, a group of quad-bikes zoomed past us. I felt them grinning to themselves at my apparant tame pace, so I suggested to Paibers we show these kids what speed really was... and off we galloped. We overtook them all. It was fabulous.

Anyway, I was very sore after all that riding as you can imagine. So what do normal people do after such strenuous thigh and bum exercise (particularly after not having done it for so long)? Rest, sleep, etc?? What did I do? I booked myself to climb Mount Sinai, which began at 1am that night. With my body aching, I suddenly find myself climbing Africa's third highest mountain, using those very same muscles which were so ripped and torn. It was excruciating. The first 2 hours weren't too bad, it was quite a novelty to climb in pitch blackness with torches. But the last hour consisted of steep rocky stairs, and I laboured. I made it though, and quickly nestled into my sleeping bag for a few hours sleep in time to wake up and watch the sunrise.

I awoke at 6am to a completely overcast sky. Let me put this in perspective: it never rains in Egypt. It rained. So no sunrise, but nevertheless, beautiful scenery. A sweet group of Chinese Christians held a little mass on the summit, and I then remembered the significance of this peak. Did I feel godly though? I have to say, not so much. I was exhausted and sore, and had a descent to tackle on 90 minutes of bad sleep.

I am now waddling like a penguin, because my body cannot do anything else. I am desperately nervous about my plan to climb Kilimanjaro - its 5 times the size of Sinai. But I am stubborn and determined, so I'll do it.

Anyway, this is my last day in Egypt. Tomorrow I fly to Africa, where I suspect internet access not so common. So it may be a while before I correspond again. Wish me luck, particularly on my birthday morning of January 25th, as it will be the day I (hopefully) reach the peak of Kilimanjaro. But I'm now officially a cowgirl - I'll be fine!