Alectown, NSW, Australia, 2006. I am newly engaged and far away from familiarity and security. Far from home. I’m lying on a blanket that’s been spread out on the tired brown grass at Mamre Farm. Silence is my soundtrack as I scan the markings on the page of a novel, but my eyes cannot catch the words. Quiet can be distracting as it tries to calm. I lie back onto Steve’s stomach and close my eyes. I listen to the sound of the wind moving the few trees on Harry’s farm. I smell the heat from the Australian spring day. And I’m relaxed, it seems, for the first time in my life.
Peace is like a river. It flows to you, over you, overwhelming you. It’s refreshing, cool to the touch, but a touch to the inside soul part. I open my eyes and tell Steve, “I think this place is anointed.” With peace. It is the only way I can describe the thick calm that I feel in the air.
Hudson, WI, America, 2009. I am newly married and have no idea what home is these days, except for being with Steve. I am sitting with some campers at their hour-long yoga session at the day camp where I am working. The yoga teacher has taken us away from our usual spot under a tree near the office, to a different tree, far from the distractions of camp. We’ve crossed a huge field full of tall grass and accompanying grasshoppers. As we sit in the shade, we sense movement along the path we’ve just made. We look behind us, and see a deer prancing away from us. Most of my campers are calm as we sit and chat with the teacher about what makes us each special and what different things bring us peace and how it is all considered yoga. I turn my head away from the campers and the teacher for a moment, and stare across the field to nothing in particular. It is quiet, it is calm, but it lacks the soul touch.
This kind of peace is like the tide. It comes and goes with the hours of the day. I have known this peace my whole life, but never realized that the inconsistency of its existence made it inherently lacking. Until now.
I date the beginning of the growing process of true peace in my life to when I met my husband. Nothing in my history until then can come close to causing the amount of chaos that I have experienced in the last 4 years. I have grappled with the experience of learning to let go of security in an attempt to let God have full control over every little thing that I do. It wasn’t easy, but quite an essential part of my life story.
I’ve been through countless immigration issues, thinking that the end of the world lay at the other side of a decision the agents had to make. I’ve been in a situation where I had a job in which I needed a car, but no car in sight and no money to pay for one, only to have someone dream they gave me a car and wake up to make it a reality. We’ve had God give us a countless amount of money through the kindness of several people. And despite the economic climate we were living in at the beginning of our marriage, we have somehow managed to survive, while gaining weight due to the huge amount of good food that was provided for us.
And even with these stories, I still seem to find a way to doubt God. I still find myself wondering if we’ll have to call up our parents in a desperate attempt to have a roof over our heads. Wondering if we’ll mess up, and fully ruin any sort of task that God has given us.
Steve and I have this phrase that we say to each other whenever we think we’ve figured something out and then get burned by that something as we discover we really have no idea what we’re doing. He’ll say to me, “Kel, what’s life?” and I am meant to say, “A lesson.” And he’ll say, “And you learn it…?” to which I respond, “…as you go.” We laugh it off as our cheesy couple’s therapy that gets us through some of our stupid choice mistakes, but the sad reality is that we do mess up many, many times in our decisions, and we do learn extremely valuable lesson because of those unfortunate lapses in our judgment.
I sometimes wonder if we are in the right place. We’ve been floating for about 2 years now, not knowing where we’ll be for any longer than six months at a time. We’ve not felt that we were supposed to settle anywhere yet, and life has begun to appear a bit muddled. Even now, we are not 100 percent positive that we will be heading back to America on our trip’s return date.
Steve is finishing up his last day at Tabor College today. He has paid his graduation fee, and will soon be the proud holder of a Diploma of Ministry. We have had a long week of alone time, since Katherine and Lewis have let us stay at their apartment for this week of Steve’s class while they are away on holidays. I believe it is the first time we’ve had a place to ourselves since we moved out of our apartment on the 1st of May. It’s been a good week. After today, we will go up to join Katherine, Lewis, and Steve’s parents for a few days, but after that, we’ve got a whole extra month of Australia time and no idea what we’re going to do with it. We are lost, oblivious to what our purpose is at the moment, desiring to go home (although where that is located, we’ve no idea), uncertain about the future, and confused about recent events.
And for some strange reason, there is peace.
the adventures of steve and kel
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
island living
Elcho Island is extremely hot. This is our third day here, and I’ve taken probably 4 naps since arriving, because the humidity is so tiring. Matty laughs at how much sleep we’ve needed since being here. He’s such a local. It’s been good to be here, with Matty, to see why he is so passionate about what goes on in this somewhat Third World piece of Australia. We’ve taken several walks along the tired, hot streets, waving or saying hello to the natives as they pass us by, and there is so much garbage covering almost every inch of this place. I sometimes want to bring a bag with us so that I can pick the trash up as we walk. Despite the litter, it is still beautiful.
I have to admit, I had no idea what to expect on arriving here. I woke up this past Monday without even thinking about where I was going that night. Steve and I finished our packing and I even included a hair dryer…to bring to the Northern Territory…where it’s hotter than I’ve ever been in my life…this is how little I thought about where I was going. We lazed about with Katherine and Lewis before they dropped us off at the airport sometime around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Our plane was scheduled to leave at 5:45 for Melbourne, which is actually an hour and a half south of Sydney – completely the opposite direction of where we wanted to go, but we couldn’t pass up the cheaper ticket. We were to arrive in Melbourne sometime around 7 pm, and catch a plane for Darwin at 9:05. We would meet Westy at the Darwin airport around midnight, Darwin time (which is an hour and a half behind Sydney and Melbourne time), and spend the night at the airport. Our flight from Darwin to Elcho Island was scheduled for 8:45 the next morning.
The plan sounded fool proof, but the only issue was that Clint was on a direct flight from Sydney to Darwin, meaning we wouldn’t be able to travel with him until after our long journey to the Territory. To remedy this, we went straight to the Qantas ticket sales after arriving at the airport to see if we could switch our flight to the same one as Clint’s. The nice Aussie Qantas agent informed us that we couldn’t, because JetStar serviced the second leg of our trip from Melbourne to Darwin. We weren’t too fazed by this news, and went to check in for our first flight. We used one of those easy check-in machines, and when we entered our flight details, the machine informed us that there was an earlier flight we could take from Sydney to Melbourne if we wanted. Steve reckoned we should take the opportunity, but I reasoned with him that we already had a 2-hour layover in Melbourne, and I really didn’t want to spend another hour sitting in an airport.
We checked our bags, and the ticket agent printed out our tickets. As she was handing our passports back to us, she told us that due to a huge thunderstorm over Sydney, all flights were delayed until further notice. I had a bit of a panic, thinking we wouldn’t make it to Melbourne in time to make our JetStar flight, but I shrugged it off, because our layover was a good 2 hours long. I calculated in my mind how long it would take to claim our luggage from the Qantas flight, check in for our JetStar flight, and rush through security to our gate. Everything still seemed all right, and we decided to deal with the delay the Australian way: “No worries.”
I discovered how different American domestic travel is to Australian domestic travel. As Steve and I approached the security section of the airport, I tried to figure out what the system was. There were 2 x-ray belts, and 2 metal detectors to walk through, but there was no queue line for either one of them. I walked up to the security guard who was leaning over the first x-ray belt, with slits for eyes as he looked like he could have been half asleep. I asked as I approached, “Should I just put my bag here on the belt now?” to which he replied, “Well I don’t really see why not,” in his friendly Aussie accent. I felt a bit silly as I placed my backpack onto the belt and sheepishly made my way through the metal detector…with my shoes still on! While this was not an issue they seemed to care about, I did still manage to get pulled aside for a random search of explosive material. I don’t know how random it is, as I’ve been chosen at least 5 times in my life for these checks.
We wandered around the airport, looking for coffee and food, but found only cheap, gross coffee and snacks. We decided that one of our flights must be planning on giving us food, so we opted to wait for the free airline grub. We sat for about a half hour longer, and finally boarded our plane as the thunderstorm passed from black ominous clouds to a more light grey fluff. After boarding the plane, we waited at the gate for about 20 minutes, and then lined up on the tarmac for another 15 minutes. With each passing second, I became more and more certain that we’d miss our connecting flight. After we finally took off, I requested one of the complimentary small bottles of Malbec that they were offering with the crackers and dip that they were passing out, and I marveled at yet another difference in the travel industries between our two countries. I enjoyed my snack, thankful that it was more filling and more relaxing than the honey roasted peanuts and coke I would have been given had I been traveling in my native land.
We arrived in Melbourne with 40 minutes to spare before our next flight was scheduled to take off. Our determination to run and to be the first people waiting at baggage claim was rewarded with a long wait for our bags to finally show up on the carousel. As soon as they appeared, we grabbed them and ran for the JetStar check in. As we approached the counter, the lady told us not to worry, because our next flight had been delayed half an hour as well. We breathed a deep sigh of relief, and set out through another mellow security check, this time avoiding the random check for explosives. We searched for food, but being Australia, and since it was already 8 o’clock at night, all of their food stores had already been closed up for the night.
We waited another long hour and a bit, and finally boarded our plane. This one went faster on the take off, and we were soon perusing the menu, discovering that we would have to pay for a meal on this cheaper JetStar flight. We didn’t care, we were so hungry. I bought a nice pasta and veggie dish with a lemonade (we would have called it a Sprite), and Steve asked for a meat pie and a Victoria Bitter. We ate and drank as we watched Hot Pursuit on our laptop, which by the way is probably John Cusack’s worse film to date.
Our stomachs were full, and we had a good 3 hours of a flight left. Steve fell asleep instantly, as I struggled next to him to find a position that even slightly resembled comfortable. I was finally able to snooze on Steve’s lap, without causing him to wake up too completely.
But then, I woke up with a start. I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. It didn’t take long to realize that my right foot was completely numb and dead. I had been lying on Steve’s lap to the right of me, which apparently had put my foot to sleep. In my half asleep state, I panicked. I woke Steve up, franticly, and he drowsily asked me what was wrong. I don’t recall ever explaining to him what was ailing me. I just grabbed my foot and started to rub it, but I couldn’t feel a thing. “My foot’s asleep, I can’t feel it,” I groaned, trying not to wake up the people around me. Poor Steve tried to do his best to help, but there was nothing he could do. I began to bang my foot on the floor of the plane, trying to get it out of its stupor and back to the land of the living. Slowly it began to burn, and the burning was followed by feelings of tingling and heaviness. I kept banging it on the floor until the feeling was fully restored. Afterwards, I couldn’t sleep; I wiggled and squirmed, trying to find another spot that would allow me to fall into sleep, but nothing helped.
As we reached Darwin and began our descent, I looked out my window and could see fire. The Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory burn the brush every year to prevent the out of control fires that Australia gets in other areas of the country. I was expecting to see it, but it was still a little taken aback by the sight of it.
We landed in Darwin, walked to baggage claim, found our luggage, and searched for Westy. We found him near the bathrooms, asleep on his bags. He had been there for about an hour and a half already. He woke up, and we chatted about our trips until our eyes were too heavy to care that we were sleeping on the floor of an airport. Our sleep was on and off, and I seem to remember dreaming that someone was trying to kill me because of who my dad was…it had something to do with his being an air traffic controller. I woke up to a busy airport, even though it was only 3 in the morning. Darwin International Airport never sleeps.
We were able to check into our Air North flight at 6 am, and had a good 2 hours before we were to board our flight. We went through another security line, and made our way to the only café inside the terminal. We ordered 3 flat white coffees, and 3 toasted sandwiches for $30. We assumed that the sandwiches would be huge, since they were so expensive, but they were only about and inch thick, and very ordinary, made with cheap bread, fake cheese, and some sort of meat-like substance. We laughed at the traveling lessons we had learned as we ate our sandwiches, and waited for our flight.
After landing on Elcho, we waited as the security officials at the teeny tiny airport painstakingly searched through each piece of luggage on the hunt for alcohol, drugs, and porn, all of which are banned from the island. Matty arrived before our bags came out, and we hugged our greeting, grabbed our bags, and jumped into his Land Cruiser, happy to be done with our traveling and to be with a friendly face.
I was overwhelmed at the culture shock I was experiencing as we drove through the tiny village near the airport. People were everywhere, under trees, or walking along the street, and all were eager to wave a hello as we passed. Matty gave us a lesson on some of the differences we would find here. He told us that there were 2,000 inhabitants on the island. Some of the houses we were seeing were about the size of a mobile home, but sometimes housed 20 people at once. Because of the welfare system the government has set up as an apology to these natives, there is a lot of sitting around, doing nothing, and gambling at night. Several of the younger children run around naked, and most of the people walk on the hot and stony ground without shoes on. There had been a suicide recently, which could have been brought on by depression due to a lack of purpose; because of the uproar it had caused, there have been several other suicide attempts – an aching cry for attention.
It was such a sight, and I pointed out that this was probably the furthest away from American that I had ever been.
We dropped our stuff off at Matty’s and drove around the island. Our car soon overheated, and we laughed as the boys tried to see if we could make it to the barge that Matty wanted us to see. Luckily, we were able to drive the car long enough to get us to the ocean. We snapped some photos before heading to the store for a big shop, and then back to Matty’s for lunch. After eating, Matty pulled out his fishing pole, and we headed down to the beach and further to the rocks that were strewn about the beach. I found a nice one to sit on as the boys enjoyed the sun, water, and fishing pole. After taking some more photos and video, I sat down and wrote these words:
“I’m sitting in a sea of black rocks, staring out to where they become covered in the clearest water I’ve ever dipped my feet into. My husband is knee deep in this croc-infested water with a fishing pole in hand. I’ve been assured that the crocodiles don’t enjoy the places where the rocks are, since the rough surface scratches their soft bellies. It’s hot enough to dry our wet clothes in a few minutes, but the breeze off the warm water keeps the heat from becoming too intense. The sounds in the background are those of distant call of the cockatoos and the cheering of the Aboriginal people. We at first thought they were happy cheers, but when we stopped to listen, Matty informed us that it was actually a funeral ceremony.”
We soon grew tired of catching only seaweed, and we headed to the house again. The house next to Matty’s belongs to a lady who has translated the Bible’s New Testament into the language of the people on this island. She had left earlier in the day for a funeral on the mainland, and had told Matty to let us stay in her house while she was gone. Clint, Steve and I decided to nap in her house, after becoming exhausted from lack of sleep the night before and the intense heat we’d been sitting under for the past 3 hours.
After we woke up from our nap, we stopped in Matty’s house to grab some food and headed out to some dunes with a cliff beyond its sandy surface, the bright turquoise water below. We built a fire in the sand and cooked some steaks that we ate with bread and tomato sauce. We spent the next few hours eating, drinking (non-alcoholic) ginger beer, and catching up with Matty about the last year and a half. We laughed as we reminisced about the memories we’d had with each other, and looked forward to the new ones we’d make in the following days.
I have to admit, I had no idea what to expect on arriving here. I woke up this past Monday without even thinking about where I was going that night. Steve and I finished our packing and I even included a hair dryer…to bring to the Northern Territory…where it’s hotter than I’ve ever been in my life…this is how little I thought about where I was going. We lazed about with Katherine and Lewis before they dropped us off at the airport sometime around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Our plane was scheduled to leave at 5:45 for Melbourne, which is actually an hour and a half south of Sydney – completely the opposite direction of where we wanted to go, but we couldn’t pass up the cheaper ticket. We were to arrive in Melbourne sometime around 7 pm, and catch a plane for Darwin at 9:05. We would meet Westy at the Darwin airport around midnight, Darwin time (which is an hour and a half behind Sydney and Melbourne time), and spend the night at the airport. Our flight from Darwin to Elcho Island was scheduled for 8:45 the next morning.
The plan sounded fool proof, but the only issue was that Clint was on a direct flight from Sydney to Darwin, meaning we wouldn’t be able to travel with him until after our long journey to the Territory. To remedy this, we went straight to the Qantas ticket sales after arriving at the airport to see if we could switch our flight to the same one as Clint’s. The nice Aussie Qantas agent informed us that we couldn’t, because JetStar serviced the second leg of our trip from Melbourne to Darwin. We weren’t too fazed by this news, and went to check in for our first flight. We used one of those easy check-in machines, and when we entered our flight details, the machine informed us that there was an earlier flight we could take from Sydney to Melbourne if we wanted. Steve reckoned we should take the opportunity, but I reasoned with him that we already had a 2-hour layover in Melbourne, and I really didn’t want to spend another hour sitting in an airport.
We checked our bags, and the ticket agent printed out our tickets. As she was handing our passports back to us, she told us that due to a huge thunderstorm over Sydney, all flights were delayed until further notice. I had a bit of a panic, thinking we wouldn’t make it to Melbourne in time to make our JetStar flight, but I shrugged it off, because our layover was a good 2 hours long. I calculated in my mind how long it would take to claim our luggage from the Qantas flight, check in for our JetStar flight, and rush through security to our gate. Everything still seemed all right, and we decided to deal with the delay the Australian way: “No worries.”
I discovered how different American domestic travel is to Australian domestic travel. As Steve and I approached the security section of the airport, I tried to figure out what the system was. There were 2 x-ray belts, and 2 metal detectors to walk through, but there was no queue line for either one of them. I walked up to the security guard who was leaning over the first x-ray belt, with slits for eyes as he looked like he could have been half asleep. I asked as I approached, “Should I just put my bag here on the belt now?” to which he replied, “Well I don’t really see why not,” in his friendly Aussie accent. I felt a bit silly as I placed my backpack onto the belt and sheepishly made my way through the metal detector…with my shoes still on! While this was not an issue they seemed to care about, I did still manage to get pulled aside for a random search of explosive material. I don’t know how random it is, as I’ve been chosen at least 5 times in my life for these checks.
We wandered around the airport, looking for coffee and food, but found only cheap, gross coffee and snacks. We decided that one of our flights must be planning on giving us food, so we opted to wait for the free airline grub. We sat for about a half hour longer, and finally boarded our plane as the thunderstorm passed from black ominous clouds to a more light grey fluff. After boarding the plane, we waited at the gate for about 20 minutes, and then lined up on the tarmac for another 15 minutes. With each passing second, I became more and more certain that we’d miss our connecting flight. After we finally took off, I requested one of the complimentary small bottles of Malbec that they were offering with the crackers and dip that they were passing out, and I marveled at yet another difference in the travel industries between our two countries. I enjoyed my snack, thankful that it was more filling and more relaxing than the honey roasted peanuts and coke I would have been given had I been traveling in my native land.
We arrived in Melbourne with 40 minutes to spare before our next flight was scheduled to take off. Our determination to run and to be the first people waiting at baggage claim was rewarded with a long wait for our bags to finally show up on the carousel. As soon as they appeared, we grabbed them and ran for the JetStar check in. As we approached the counter, the lady told us not to worry, because our next flight had been delayed half an hour as well. We breathed a deep sigh of relief, and set out through another mellow security check, this time avoiding the random check for explosives. We searched for food, but being Australia, and since it was already 8 o’clock at night, all of their food stores had already been closed up for the night.
We waited another long hour and a bit, and finally boarded our plane. This one went faster on the take off, and we were soon perusing the menu, discovering that we would have to pay for a meal on this cheaper JetStar flight. We didn’t care, we were so hungry. I bought a nice pasta and veggie dish with a lemonade (we would have called it a Sprite), and Steve asked for a meat pie and a Victoria Bitter. We ate and drank as we watched Hot Pursuit on our laptop, which by the way is probably John Cusack’s worse film to date.
Our stomachs were full, and we had a good 3 hours of a flight left. Steve fell asleep instantly, as I struggled next to him to find a position that even slightly resembled comfortable. I was finally able to snooze on Steve’s lap, without causing him to wake up too completely.
But then, I woke up with a start. I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. It didn’t take long to realize that my right foot was completely numb and dead. I had been lying on Steve’s lap to the right of me, which apparently had put my foot to sleep. In my half asleep state, I panicked. I woke Steve up, franticly, and he drowsily asked me what was wrong. I don’t recall ever explaining to him what was ailing me. I just grabbed my foot and started to rub it, but I couldn’t feel a thing. “My foot’s asleep, I can’t feel it,” I groaned, trying not to wake up the people around me. Poor Steve tried to do his best to help, but there was nothing he could do. I began to bang my foot on the floor of the plane, trying to get it out of its stupor and back to the land of the living. Slowly it began to burn, and the burning was followed by feelings of tingling and heaviness. I kept banging it on the floor until the feeling was fully restored. Afterwards, I couldn’t sleep; I wiggled and squirmed, trying to find another spot that would allow me to fall into sleep, but nothing helped.
As we reached Darwin and began our descent, I looked out my window and could see fire. The Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory burn the brush every year to prevent the out of control fires that Australia gets in other areas of the country. I was expecting to see it, but it was still a little taken aback by the sight of it.
We landed in Darwin, walked to baggage claim, found our luggage, and searched for Westy. We found him near the bathrooms, asleep on his bags. He had been there for about an hour and a half already. He woke up, and we chatted about our trips until our eyes were too heavy to care that we were sleeping on the floor of an airport. Our sleep was on and off, and I seem to remember dreaming that someone was trying to kill me because of who my dad was…it had something to do with his being an air traffic controller. I woke up to a busy airport, even though it was only 3 in the morning. Darwin International Airport never sleeps.
We were able to check into our Air North flight at 6 am, and had a good 2 hours before we were to board our flight. We went through another security line, and made our way to the only café inside the terminal. We ordered 3 flat white coffees, and 3 toasted sandwiches for $30. We assumed that the sandwiches would be huge, since they were so expensive, but they were only about and inch thick, and very ordinary, made with cheap bread, fake cheese, and some sort of meat-like substance. We laughed at the traveling lessons we had learned as we ate our sandwiches, and waited for our flight.
After landing on Elcho, we waited as the security officials at the teeny tiny airport painstakingly searched through each piece of luggage on the hunt for alcohol, drugs, and porn, all of which are banned from the island. Matty arrived before our bags came out, and we hugged our greeting, grabbed our bags, and jumped into his Land Cruiser, happy to be done with our traveling and to be with a friendly face.
I was overwhelmed at the culture shock I was experiencing as we drove through the tiny village near the airport. People were everywhere, under trees, or walking along the street, and all were eager to wave a hello as we passed. Matty gave us a lesson on some of the differences we would find here. He told us that there were 2,000 inhabitants on the island. Some of the houses we were seeing were about the size of a mobile home, but sometimes housed 20 people at once. Because of the welfare system the government has set up as an apology to these natives, there is a lot of sitting around, doing nothing, and gambling at night. Several of the younger children run around naked, and most of the people walk on the hot and stony ground without shoes on. There had been a suicide recently, which could have been brought on by depression due to a lack of purpose; because of the uproar it had caused, there have been several other suicide attempts – an aching cry for attention.
It was such a sight, and I pointed out that this was probably the furthest away from American that I had ever been.
We dropped our stuff off at Matty’s and drove around the island. Our car soon overheated, and we laughed as the boys tried to see if we could make it to the barge that Matty wanted us to see. Luckily, we were able to drive the car long enough to get us to the ocean. We snapped some photos before heading to the store for a big shop, and then back to Matty’s for lunch. After eating, Matty pulled out his fishing pole, and we headed down to the beach and further to the rocks that were strewn about the beach. I found a nice one to sit on as the boys enjoyed the sun, water, and fishing pole. After taking some more photos and video, I sat down and wrote these words:
“I’m sitting in a sea of black rocks, staring out to where they become covered in the clearest water I’ve ever dipped my feet into. My husband is knee deep in this croc-infested water with a fishing pole in hand. I’ve been assured that the crocodiles don’t enjoy the places where the rocks are, since the rough surface scratches their soft bellies. It’s hot enough to dry our wet clothes in a few minutes, but the breeze off the warm water keeps the heat from becoming too intense. The sounds in the background are those of distant call of the cockatoos and the cheering of the Aboriginal people. We at first thought they were happy cheers, but when we stopped to listen, Matty informed us that it was actually a funeral ceremony.”
We soon grew tired of catching only seaweed, and we headed to the house again. The house next to Matty’s belongs to a lady who has translated the Bible’s New Testament into the language of the people on this island. She had left earlier in the day for a funeral on the mainland, and had told Matty to let us stay in her house while she was gone. Clint, Steve and I decided to nap in her house, after becoming exhausted from lack of sleep the night before and the intense heat we’d been sitting under for the past 3 hours.
After we woke up from our nap, we stopped in Matty’s house to grab some food and headed out to some dunes with a cliff beyond its sandy surface, the bright turquoise water below. We built a fire in the sand and cooked some steaks that we ate with bread and tomato sauce. We spent the next few hours eating, drinking (non-alcoholic) ginger beer, and catching up with Matty about the last year and a half. We laughed as we reminisced about the memories we’d had with each other, and looked forward to the new ones we’d make in the following days.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
starting over takes us north
I’m sitting in the back of a 30-passenger, two turboprop Embraer E120 Basilia. Steve and Clint are with me, and we’re making our way east of Darwin to Matty on Elcho Island. With Upton in my ears and the Northern Territory out my window, I’m overwhelmed with what this trip to Australia has brought to us so far.
After the stomach upsets of the first few days, we settled into what we thought was familiarity – home time. Here we were, at the café with friends – dear friends – again. It felt normal for a few days, but I should have known that normal is not in the plan yet for Steve and me. There’s still ground to take – unfamiliarity to master.
We had a plan, you see. Countless people had asked us for a plan – in more ways than one and in not so many words. Expectations aren’t always easy to live up to. And even though our plan was way more colorful than I had ever envisioned for my world, it was a plan nonetheless.
We came to Australia to see if there was a reason to come back to live. We came to pursue Steve’s music dream. It was a reconnaissance mission, to see if we were ready to come back to Australia yet, and we were so sure we knew what we were coming back for, and so sure that it was going to be something big. Now, in a matter of days, our plans have hit a wall. I suppose when other people are involved, it’s hard to grow your dreams together, especially when you’re growing them half a world away from each other. The wind was knocked out of the gut of our plans, and we returned to a place of uncertainty.
It’s fitting, I suppose, that this trip has brought me to a strange land. Arnhem Land is its given name, and even before we’ve reached the island, I am surrounded by an unfamiliar culture, in the back corner of a very small plane. I am wearing a long black skirt – initially because Matty told me it’s respectful to the culture, but after being in the heat of the top-most part of Australia, I’ve realized the benefits of its flowing openness.
From this viewpoint, I’m seeing what it’s like for a group of Aboriginal people traveling back to their home. They are happy, excited, and loud. This happiness seems to be inherent, but I’ve had a very limited experience with them. I was in the bathroom before boarding the plane, and from the men’s bathroom, I heard a loud, horrible coughing-retching-vomiting. I washed my hands as I winced through each cough, feeling terrible for the man who was, from the sounds of it, spewing up his insides. But as I finished washing and went to reach for the paper towel, I heard him leave the bathroom, laughing out some foreign words to one of his friends. It was encouraging to know he was enjoying himself, even though I began to hope I wouldn’t be sitting by him on the plane.
We’ve just landed in Maningrida for a stopover on our way to Elcho Island. It seems to be a place planted in the middle of nowhere, and as I look out the window, I’m greeted with a sight I’ve only ever seen in movies. The dirt is deep orange and this airport so small, and just by looking out the window, I can tell the air is a burning hot. This stop came at us rather alarmingly as our small aircraft twisted and jerked her way to a landing, in a movement much akin to driving a car on a rode covered in ice. It may have been the first time I’ve ever considered reaching for the vomit bag while flying . After the wheels touched down, it felt like we were fishtailing down the tarmac. We’ve dropped off about 5 people, and are about to finally head over to Elcho.
We are now 2 ½ weeks into our 2 month trip. After discovering the devastating music news 6 days after landing in Sydney, we’ve set out on a frustrating trip back to purpose. We feel homeless, but 2 days after the initial shock, we were able to drive out to Mudgee to visit Clint. It was his birthday, and the theme was Bogan Pride. So, dressed in our best flannel and Ugg boots, Steve and I packed up Katherine’s little Hyundai, picked up Jon and made our way over the mountains. After spotting Izzy’s mustard yellow ute, and making eye contact with his passenger, Phil, we decided to stop for a kebab in the mountains together. I have no words to describe the wonder of that experience. It had been a full year and a half since I ate my last one, and being away from it was only slightly less painful than being away from Steve.
We made another stop for some beverages in Lithgow, making the 3 hour trip turn into more like 4 ½ hours. But, let me tell you, Mudgee was worth it.
I walked into Clint’s house carrying a bag of clothes in one hand and Westy’s gift in the other hand. The house was full of people I had never met, and they were all dressed pretty bogan-ly. The first person to approach me was a man wearing an obviously pillow-stuffed Wallabey's Rugby jersey, the shortest green shorts know to man, a fake mullet wig under a bogan hat, and a real-life white trash mustache. I winced as I stuck my hand in his for a hearty handshake as he announced, “I’m Dennis, and I live here.” My thoughts were many and as follows:
1) Steve had better stay near me
2) Where did Steve go?
3) Are we sure this is Westy’s house?
4) Where is Westy?
5) Is that real or just a wig?
In hindsight, maybe a Bogan Pride party is not the best place to form an opinion of someone. Clint’s housemates were great, and treated us like royalty.
We eventually found Westy and raised our beers to toast his 25th. There were a lot of laughs that night, and good sleep for Steve and I since Westy gave up his bed for us.
After sleeping off the party, we drove to a few wineries and had a slow afternoon of wine tasting, Aussie rules football, and of course, a barbecue of sausages. That night, we hit up the local wine bar for some more of the local wine and some live music. In celebration of his birthday, Clint was coerced into getting up on stage for a song with the band. The performance was full of on-the-spot lyrics and famous Clint interpretive dancing. I would have to say, it may have been his finest hour. And, I got it on film.
The next morning, we visited his church and were greeted by several locals with handshakes and hugs. The service was followed by some quality time with Clint, which allowed us to share our hearts and our pain with someone who understands us more intricately than most and who always seems to be ready to pour out love to us. It eased the intensity of our hurt, and reminded us why we love it here.
After Mudgee, we spent some time in Parkes where I learned to drive a manual car – just, not on an actual rode yet. We then made our way back to Sydney to bide our time until this trip to Elcho.
We’ve landed safely and are ready to see Matty. I’ll be keeping this blog posted on our time here.
After the stomach upsets of the first few days, we settled into what we thought was familiarity – home time. Here we were, at the café with friends – dear friends – again. It felt normal for a few days, but I should have known that normal is not in the plan yet for Steve and me. There’s still ground to take – unfamiliarity to master.
We had a plan, you see. Countless people had asked us for a plan – in more ways than one and in not so many words. Expectations aren’t always easy to live up to. And even though our plan was way more colorful than I had ever envisioned for my world, it was a plan nonetheless.
We came to Australia to see if there was a reason to come back to live. We came to pursue Steve’s music dream. It was a reconnaissance mission, to see if we were ready to come back to Australia yet, and we were so sure we knew what we were coming back for, and so sure that it was going to be something big. Now, in a matter of days, our plans have hit a wall. I suppose when other people are involved, it’s hard to grow your dreams together, especially when you’re growing them half a world away from each other. The wind was knocked out of the gut of our plans, and we returned to a place of uncertainty.
It’s fitting, I suppose, that this trip has brought me to a strange land. Arnhem Land is its given name, and even before we’ve reached the island, I am surrounded by an unfamiliar culture, in the back corner of a very small plane. I am wearing a long black skirt – initially because Matty told me it’s respectful to the culture, but after being in the heat of the top-most part of Australia, I’ve realized the benefits of its flowing openness.
From this viewpoint, I’m seeing what it’s like for a group of Aboriginal people traveling back to their home. They are happy, excited, and loud. This happiness seems to be inherent, but I’ve had a very limited experience with them. I was in the bathroom before boarding the plane, and from the men’s bathroom, I heard a loud, horrible coughing-retching-vomiting. I washed my hands as I winced through each cough, feeling terrible for the man who was, from the sounds of it, spewing up his insides. But as I finished washing and went to reach for the paper towel, I heard him leave the bathroom, laughing out some foreign words to one of his friends. It was encouraging to know he was enjoying himself, even though I began to hope I wouldn’t be sitting by him on the plane.
We’ve just landed in Maningrida for a stopover on our way to Elcho Island. It seems to be a place planted in the middle of nowhere, and as I look out the window, I’m greeted with a sight I’ve only ever seen in movies. The dirt is deep orange and this airport so small, and just by looking out the window, I can tell the air is a burning hot. This stop came at us rather alarmingly as our small aircraft twisted and jerked her way to a landing, in a movement much akin to driving a car on a rode covered in ice. It may have been the first time I’ve ever considered reaching for the vomit bag while flying . After the wheels touched down, it felt like we were fishtailing down the tarmac. We’ve dropped off about 5 people, and are about to finally head over to Elcho.
We are now 2 ½ weeks into our 2 month trip. After discovering the devastating music news 6 days after landing in Sydney, we’ve set out on a frustrating trip back to purpose. We feel homeless, but 2 days after the initial shock, we were able to drive out to Mudgee to visit Clint. It was his birthday, and the theme was Bogan Pride. So, dressed in our best flannel and Ugg boots, Steve and I packed up Katherine’s little Hyundai, picked up Jon and made our way over the mountains. After spotting Izzy’s mustard yellow ute, and making eye contact with his passenger, Phil, we decided to stop for a kebab in the mountains together. I have no words to describe the wonder of that experience. It had been a full year and a half since I ate my last one, and being away from it was only slightly less painful than being away from Steve.
We made another stop for some beverages in Lithgow, making the 3 hour trip turn into more like 4 ½ hours. But, let me tell you, Mudgee was worth it.
I walked into Clint’s house carrying a bag of clothes in one hand and Westy’s gift in the other hand. The house was full of people I had never met, and they were all dressed pretty bogan-ly. The first person to approach me was a man wearing an obviously pillow-stuffed Wallabey's Rugby jersey, the shortest green shorts know to man, a fake mullet wig under a bogan hat, and a real-life white trash mustache. I winced as I stuck my hand in his for a hearty handshake as he announced, “I’m Dennis, and I live here.” My thoughts were many and as follows:
1) Steve had better stay near me
2) Where did Steve go?
3) Are we sure this is Westy’s house?
4) Where is Westy?
5) Is that real or just a wig?
In hindsight, maybe a Bogan Pride party is not the best place to form an opinion of someone. Clint’s housemates were great, and treated us like royalty.
We eventually found Westy and raised our beers to toast his 25th. There were a lot of laughs that night, and good sleep for Steve and I since Westy gave up his bed for us.
After sleeping off the party, we drove to a few wineries and had a slow afternoon of wine tasting, Aussie rules football, and of course, a barbecue of sausages. That night, we hit up the local wine bar for some more of the local wine and some live music. In celebration of his birthday, Clint was coerced into getting up on stage for a song with the band. The performance was full of on-the-spot lyrics and famous Clint interpretive dancing. I would have to say, it may have been his finest hour. And, I got it on film.
The next morning, we visited his church and were greeted by several locals with handshakes and hugs. The service was followed by some quality time with Clint, which allowed us to share our hearts and our pain with someone who understands us more intricately than most and who always seems to be ready to pour out love to us. It eased the intensity of our hurt, and reminded us why we love it here.
After Mudgee, we spent some time in Parkes where I learned to drive a manual car – just, not on an actual rode yet. We then made our way back to Sydney to bide our time until this trip to Elcho.
We’ve landed safely and are ready to see Matty. I’ll be keeping this blog posted on our time here.
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