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… again!
I'm off to Cairns for my niece's wedding. But I journey slowly.
I drive along the highway beside the hoop of a Clarice Beckett rainbow in a Clarice Beckett sky. The high clouds are billows of grey overlaid with apricot, above them vivid slashes of orange, and along the mountain range horizon, an echoing horizon of leaden clouds. The base sky is a luminous grey.
I spend the night with my friend who sings with magpies. I feast on her view out over the Moruya river to the sea; and on kale (for the first time), a curried lentil-and-meat pie, and pear and poppyseed cake. I retreat to bed between crisp cotton sheets while she plays ukelele and recorder. The music flows downstairs, and for the first time nearly forever I go to sleep without a book in my hand.
In the morning we walk down to the wharf, past mangroves and reflections. The river winds its way to the mountains, peaceful in the morning light. A young girl on a bike passes us, gripping a fishing line and we wish her good luck. We chat and enjoy the silence and then I work up a sweat climbing the access stairs, past a plant that reminds me of fritillaries: practice for the steep road that leads to my Cairns cabin. Back at her place I look in awe at the garden she has created only eight months after moving in: at the swelling Jap pumpkins, the circular wood stepping stones, the tepee for climbing beans, the extraordinarily healthy looking strawberry plant, and the wonderful higgledy piggledy fence that keeps the macropods out. An elegant iron seat rescued from the tip looks out over the flat swirls of the Moruya River as it approaches the ocean.
We head into Moruya for coffee before I board the Sydney bus. I have a view through two windows. Through one the landscape has a pinky orangey glow, like bushfire light. Through the other it is a bluey grey, the difference replicating the colour propensities of my two cameras. Splats of rain run down the glass.
A woman moves into the seat beside me. I covertly assess her. About my age I think, maybe a year or two older. When we strike up a conversation, I discover she's 82. This is the second time I've made such an assessment lately. I've crossed an age border in my thinking. We begin to chat when the traffic slows to a crawl, and the bus begins its slow slide into ninety minutes late. As always, there are many fascinations in the life of a stranger. The sense of a village life in Kurnell, population 2000, bus service minimal, distance from Sydney's CBD 35 kilometres. A marriage between a traveller and a homebody. A collection of wine-makers in the family. The difficulties of talking to our children about end-of-life issues.
Finally the bus reaches Sydney as dusk falls and I capture a few city buildings with my iPhone and a train to my sister-in-law's in Blacktown. We yack and eat and wine (with unusual restraint) until 11. She is an avid and rigorous family historian and it is always good to catch up on the latest find or the latest brick wall, even though it isn't my blood family she's investigating. I see yet again how rich her life has been in experiences and in generosity. She is in a sense part-custodian of fifty years of my life, and my admiration for her deepens every time we spend time together.
In the morning I sit on the porch in the sun, idle and relaxed. The sun makes tiger shadows on my leg as it passes through the porch table. I notice the red veins in the leaves of the plan in the red and white striped pot and the nubby stripes where the leaves spray out. I begin to relax into thoughts of a holiday in the far north.
pommepal said:
Lovely photos Meg, slow travel definitely the way to go. Enjoy your nieces wedding.
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restlessjo said:
I feel wonderfully relaxed, Meg. It must be the sunshine and good company you travel with (bloggers as well as the other kind 🙂 ) The ladies are right. You do have a beautiful ‘voice’. Happy wedding festivities! 🙂
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morselsandscraps said:
Thank you for telling me I have a beautiful ‘voice’. I relish such praise, especially from you. For your information, I turned professional last night – my nephew insisted on paying for my dinner on the grounds that he enjoys the writing on my blog!
Today’s the wedding day. I have my bag packed and plans to secrete a torch in the bushes at the entrance to the house so I can negotiate three flights of stairs and a keyhole without incident. An evening bag is inadequate for the needs of a woman used to a backpack and a large travelling shoulder bag. Weather’s looking good – 31 – after a few rainy days. Mind you I drip in 31 degrees: rain is no wetter!
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restlessjo said:
It will be totally fabulous! 🙂 🙂 I shall now have to respond to you with twice as much respect, in view of your professional status. Trip the light fantastic, Meg, and not up the steps 🙂
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Lucid Gypsy said:
Meg I enjoyed this journey so much. I love how you don’t mind the delay (just like me)and get talking to strangers (just like me) and describe the minutiae ( as I would like to be able to!). Your last photo is a real delight, my grandmother always had a maidenhair fern and it brings back lovely memories, I’ve tried to grow them before and failed, so I must have another go. Happy travelling my dear!
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morselsandscraps said:
We obviously have to meet some day! There’s a whole bank of maidenhair beside the road at the beginning of the walk to Nerrigundah. I’m glad the photo evoked your grandmother.
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Paula said:
You my dear are like a suitcase 🙂 I love your photos, the last one most of all. Let this wedding be special and warm for both you and your niece.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
Meg, I just have to say after enjoying this and so many other posts how eagerly I look forward to them. There is always something new. I am in awe of your writing and your photography, both simply beautiful, and your generosity. Have a wonderful time in Far North Queensland.
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morselsandscraps said:
Thank you so much my dear. I’m loving Cairns, although the orchid and fern houses were unavailable at the splendid Botanic Gardens. Two superb exhibitions at the Regional Gallery, and snorkelling on the reef tomorrow. Dunno when I’ll have a chance to write about all these pleasures, because more keep appearing.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
When I was in Cairns many years ago there were also some lovely private galleries. I particularly remember an upstairs one in the main business area showing a collection on Daintree. I didn’t know you snorkelled! I used to love doing that in Fiji, for hours at a time. Don’t forget to try some of the local seafood.
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Sue said:
Great write – I love the details, and agree with Jude’s comment re feeling as if we are by your side!
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morselsandscraps said:
Thank you Sue. I really enjoyed writing it. I wonder if there’s a connection between your pleasure and mine??
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Sue said:
I think so, in terms of enjoying different sensory perceptions, appreciating sight, sound, smell, taste and touch!
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Heyjude said:
I love your travel writing. I feel as though I am by your side, you use all your senses to describe your environment and I see it through your eyes. I like the idea of slow travel when it takes me lazily from scene to scene like this. You really should write a memoir of your life.
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morselsandscraps said:
I’m very flattered. (My blog IS my memoir!)
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Heyjude said:
Well get it into book form then, so you don’t lose it. And I’d love to hear more from your past especially the Broken Hill years. Is any of that on the blog?
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morselsandscraps said:
No Broken Hill. I didn’t even know what the Internet was then, let alone blogging. I did write a bit, but who knows where it is. One day! When I stop gallivanting. I can’t even keep pace with the leisurely tropics – five blogs waiting to be written.
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