Kerry Tolson's Blog, page 6

If ironing undies was an olympic sport....

As you know, this little blog is about my travels, both overseas and just outside my backdoor - if I could and if M would, we'd be stepping out the back door, locking it tight and popping the key under the potplant for a very looooonnnnnnnng time.  I love reading the blogs and pages of people doing exactly just that - drifting around the world living amazing awe inspiring journeys after selling up, de-mortgaging or were never mortgaged and will probably end up boomeranging in and out of the family home once their travels finish.  I have a lot of respect for them and appreciation of what they are doing - their spirit and tenacity is what keeps me going with the hope that one day, that could be me too. (Though I have promised my parents,  we would never move back into their house.  Bud on the other hand might not be so lucky to get such a promise.) I've even found inspiration from a woman who's travel blog is all about her yearly one month trips, where she buys a round the world ticket for thirty days and crams in as many countries as she can, then for the other eleven months of the year slaves away at her desk job  to save for the next RTW Ticket.  What really stirs my travel dreams is the experiences she 'infuses' into those 30days.... Ahhhhh dreams, they can become real! While I continue to dream of an endless road around the globe and grab any chance I can in chalking up a some travel miles, even if it’s only for a few weeks, I'm also wandering along on another journey - that of a wistful writer who falls between moments of furious writing and industrious procrastinating.  I'm sure writers are the best multi-tasking procrastinators in the world -   there's even an actual name for it.... I looked it up... it's called MULTICRASTINATION :  the art of being proficient doing lots of unnecessary pointless things whilst at the same time never finding the time to do that one import thing. 
And I'm a wiz at it.

I have been known to iron undies and tea towels, wash the insides of CD case covers and rearrange my granddaughter's Lego blocks into colour co-ordinated units - if these were sporting events,  I'd have a wall full of medals'.

Though I do caution against using an ironing agent on the undies, for although the occasional waft of mountain breeze is all very nice, the crispness takes walking at a cracking pace, to a whole new perspective.  
While I busy myself with these tasks I can write whole paragraphs, even chapters in my head, then when it's time to pop it all onto the screen and pound the keyboard - I go blank.... then I need to go in search of a coffee and read another travel blog.    It's said being a writer can be compared to riding an emotional roller coaster whirl, constantly dipping and soaring and flipping in circles.  I find it resembles more like sitting on one of those bouncy hopper balls - madly propelling oneself whilst hanging onto a pair of horns -  lots of pushing, going sideways, falling off, copping a  face planting on the writers block which leaves me at times feeling a little bruised, occasionally teary and definitely nervous. But the passion and desire to put words to paper is strong and it's hard to ignore it.  Back in 2000 we ventured out for what was our first overseas trip - to Nepal.

I wish I could say I was a young backpacker embarking on the 'hippy trail' with no time limit or a care in the world, but I wasn't.  M and I were on the other side of the mid 30's, bogged down with debt -  a credit crunch with lashings of mortgage stress (especially with an interest rate of almost 13% at the time) - and had a young  son - we had to be responsible and let him go to school. We also owned a small business that couldn't give time away.  But I was determine to travel,  so with only 30days spare and a borrowed thousand dollars,  I brought us flight tickets to Kathmandu  - booked zero, planned nothing, and had absolutely no idea whatsoever what was in store for us - I hadn't even read the guide book.  What happen on that trip became the birth of a book and a ticket on a bouncy hopper journey. That was fifteen years ago.  Now quite frankly it shouldn't take that long to write a book, especially a book about spending thirty days in Nepal -  we didn't get caught up in any natural disaster, we weren't climbing mountains (I was out of breath getting up the stairs of Swayambhunath)   and, although I would have loved to have been involved with some type of inspiring volunteer organisation doing work like helping the blind or saving orphaned children - I hadn't pre-researched before we left  so we didn't know where to start, plus I have to admit, we were flat out saving ourselves at times... mad cows and men with lethal knives hiding in jeeps come to mind.

As I tapped away over those fifteen years, I also had a number of gremlins to fight along the way - guilt of not being at business or spending time with Bud. Fear of being unable to write a readable sentence, which lead to extinguished confidence. And then there was social media. Ask any writer, they'll tell you the social media pixie is an enticing, annoying little time zipper who invites you onto its mushroom stool and sucks your attention big time - before I know it, my ten minute checking of Facebook and Outlook always seems to become four hours of scrolling and 'liking' with a few 'xo' s and smiley faces attached. Eventually twenty-three drafts, three complete re-writes and endless reams of printed paper - scribbled with so much red ink the drafts look like they had a bad case of varicose veins - later, I had a manuscript I thought might have a chance.  At the beginning of the year I gathered up the few shreds of courage I had (as well as borrowing a couple from supportive friends),  and sent it off with a little kiss and wave, wishing it well and telling it not to come home too soon - less than three weeks later I receive a lovely little message - Scribblemama, your little bundle of words is about to grow into a book. 

(Over the years I'd sent the manuscript unsolicited off to various publishing houses and never heard a word back, which isn't at all unusual - Publishing companies get tens of thousands of manuscripts  each year landing in their slush piles.Occasionally one swims to the surface, splashes about and gets a life-buoy thrown at it. And although many times I seriously thought of introducing the manuscript to the bottom desk drawn, the whisper of Nepal's essence wouldn't let me go, I wanted to tell this story to someone.)    Suddenly, the hoppy ball became one of those Zorbing orbiting balls. Absorbed into the fast pace of meeting publishing deadlines and felt myself being tossed and spun, watching time bolt past at an amazing speed while I tried to meet all the behind the scenes tasks required.  From the moment I received the life changing email, I raced to get my little 'gathering of words' into polished shape to meet the world. Thinking I had shined the manuscript to the enth degree before it had gone to publisher at the very beginning, I was to find all I had done was licked the fringe back. 
It was time to give it a good scrub up and dressing - right before I was about to fly out to Vietnam!  It was a frantic two weeks of combing all the sentences and giving a little trim here and there, pulling it in at the waist and letting the hem down in places, and I sent it off back to the publisher just as I was about to board the flight to Hanoi.  Upon return I found it had come home again for another tweak  and tuck in.    
I thought I'd take a breath and relax, enjoy the ride, take a tour down the 'about to be published' lane, where my editor would hold my hand and point out the lovely sights along.   But no!  There is no such thing as a ramble down print street - it's more akin to hiking up Everest, with my editor and the graphic designer pushing, guiding and dragging me all the way up.  
Every now and then an avalanche of emails tumbles upon me and I become lost in the flurry of paper snow, or the critic, who lives in my head, whispers sweet doubts into my ear and my Zorbing ball hits a sand trap and spins uncontrollably.

Thankfully I have M close by... poor suffering chap, as if it's not enough that I'm about to thrust him into the glaring lights of 'read all about it', telling the world his life, including what is emblazoned across his boxer-shorts... he's now having to take on the role of tea wallah, making perfect chai to relax and calm me. Over the next few weeks, I'll share a little bit more of this zippy ride to Release Date.

Now, it you'll just give me a minute... or five,  I've got to go and quickly press those boxer-shorts I mentioned earlier,  I'm sure they'd look and sit better if they had a crease or two.... 
 

Take a Daycation and feel the holiday bliss

As I try to quell the 'is the date here yet' impatient vibes and get in training for the upcoming passport stamp (or three) injection - (details coming real soon) - I find that taking a Daycation is the perfect way to get that holiday bliss and rejuvenation feeling. 

What's a Daycation? I hear you ask... it's a day trip that feels like a vacation - without having to unpack luggage and re-stock the fridge with fresh food on arrival back home.   Some people call it a "Sunday drive" but if you leave super early in the morning and wander home late afternoon (or in the evening) it can feel like you've been away for a week.  I've become addicted to them - it helps settle my wanderlust affliction.

We've got a mountain or two coming up to train for and so each weekend M and I have been loading the bicycles into the Jazz - roomiest little voom voom ever (we once fitted a go-kart into it) - and heading off to drop-dead gorgeous villages that are about an hour or so from us.   I admit,  I'm pretty spoilt when it comes to picturesque idyllic villages with living on the far north coast of NSW,  we've got the most stunning beaches and glorious hinterland hideaways right on our doorstep, but for some reason we rarely visit them (too busy looking further afield) - well this past month that has all changed.  

Last week is was beautiful Brunswick Heads,  or Bruns as the locals like to call it (unfortunately I forgot to take the camera so have no pics to tease you with)  and this weekend M and I flipped the coin and Yamba - once voted "Best Town in Australia"- won the toss. 
  Rising early we hit the highway with next to no traffic on it, the Grey Nomads were still having breaky in the stopping bays on the side of the road, along with the wallabies and flocks of rosellas, cockatoos and magpies.  'Macca All Over' was murmuring on the radio - and as anyone knows, there no trip on a Sunday morning in Aus without Macca accompanying you - and within the hour we had arrived in sleepy Yamba with a crystal blue sky above us and shimmering blue Clarence River beside us.  Parking the Jazz at the very outskirts of the village, we unloaded the bikes and once over the Oyster Channel bridge, found ourselves pedalling along fabulous wide bike paths that would have to be some of the most well maintained and picturesque I've ever ridden along.  

Following the gentle curve of Yamba Bay we meandered around to Hickey Island where we left the smooth wide perfect bike 'track' for a real track of sandy dirt and bumps lined with bird encrusted bushland. I say encrusted because the area was teaming with birdlife and one had to be careful not to 'ride/run into' the flocks that swooped and darted across the track, or were hoping about the ground hunting for insects.  And talking about insects,  the bees were swarming around the puddles on the ground - the place was absolutely humming! An important habitat for threatened species, to the untrained eye, Hickey Island was a paradise for creatures.  

Back on the pretty bike paths we continued on to the South Wall where we were enthralled to see whales breaching and spouting.  Next to the South Wall was Turners Beach with amazing views of Clarence Head and the Gantry Wall backdrop. This area was quarried in the 1800's for the construction of the South Wall.  The rock formations enticed us over and we spent a lovely hour wandering the wave-smashed and carved landscape. The tessellation of the rocks so beautifully drawn and sculpted by nature. 



Above it all sat the lighthouse - our next call, but not before we had to gather all out stamina and peddle up the steep Clarence Street.  I made it less than a quarter of the way up before having to walk/push the bike up (note to self - more work needed on the leg strength!).  The Yamba lighthouse is beautiful elegant 'lady' surrounded by an expanse of green that is perfect for picnicking and rug lounging.   It's also the perfect place to ooh and arh over fluffy plover chicks and their proud parents. Not far from the lighthouse is the sweet little building of the Pilot station, built in 1862, it's brilliant whiteness shimmered in the sunlight


   

By time we'd cycled the full coastal boundary of Yamba including past the iconic Pacific Hotel that commands outstanding views,  it was lunch time - we'd missed breakfast, but more importantly, we'd missed our much needed caffeine hit. This was made much harder when upon arrival in the main street, we couldn't decide which café to stop at.  Yamba has an abundance of cafes and eateries and they all look super chic, smell divine and all entice.  Wanting to keep with our holiday-vibe theme we decided to stop at the Yamba Backpackers and were blown away by how funky, upmarket and beautiful it was.  Backpacking in Australia appears to take on a whole new meaning compared to Asian backpacking establishments.   The food was incredible!  and the coffee spot on.   

I had heard that Yamba had a Turkish café, that sold real Turkish apple tea and Turkish delight so after our brunch we hunted it out, only to find that it was closed - the owner was in Turkey.  While lamenting this, we heard a voice behind us exclaiming "I know this lady" and turned around to see a very old friend from a very long time ago. The funny thing about seeing this person is that every time we see each other we're no-where near our homes.  I've run into her in various parts of Australia and once in Monkey Forest Road, Ubud, Bali...  Oh course we had to stop for more coffee and this gave us a change to check out another fabulous and uber-gorgeous café, where we run into more friends just back from an O/s trip themselves. The gathering threw me back into travel mode as we sat basking in the sunlight, sharing travel stories and tips. I felt like I was back on the banana-pancake trail.

Then it was back on the treadlys and a pedal to Pippi Beach, before wandering around the back streets past the golf club, the uber-cool skate park and past the beautifully treed primary school that held an abundance of birdlife.   I could not get over how much bird life there was in Yamba.  The village is choir of glorious birdsong.  (note the pic next to this is of Whiting Beach... Yamba has 6beaches!)

It was now becoming late afternoon so we peddled up to the viewing area of Pelican Island and Rabbit Island  and finally around the canal streets of west Yamba with glimpses of Yambas other islands - Freeburn, Sleeper, Palmers and Thorney.  Seeing these bushy, enticing isles with sparkling water and sandy fringes had us dreaming of what if we had a boat...  maybe we could get a small runabout... oh wouldn't it be lovely to have a little yacht down here. 

Ah yes all the fantasies that arise when you're on holidays.... or even, on a daycation.