"To free yourself from the pains and sorrows in life, learn to make them authentic... (Hey! Suck on my bloody knee!)..."

Wow, my last night in Japan. And yes, I am spending it on the internet writing a blog, rather than partying down or taking part in some other incredibly interesting and impressive activity. What can I say? I've never been good at beginnings and ends, and this end is leaving me pretty lost and hazy. I don't really know what to do with myself, and I think the best possible option is to have it out with the keyboard for a little while, and hope it clears the fog a little! So, even though in a very short time, most of you who read this- I'll be able to hug you and hold your hands and pass these words through my mouth not my fingers... but there are a few who will still be over the seas, and I need to write something or I might not make it on/off the plane tomorrow!!!!







So... what did I get up to since I last dropped in? Ahhhh Japan...







Well, I travelled from Tokyo to Matsumoto. I thought I was going to Nagano, but I wasn't. Well, I was going to Nagano province (or something along those lines...) but not Nagano city as I had assumed. Anyway, it all turned out splendidly, and didn't really matter exactly where I was, I suppose! I wandered the city the first day I was there- saw Matsumoto Castle which was pretty speccy, and the Matsumoto Timepiece Museum which was another lovely badge on my lovely- incredible-ticking-wonders vest. I treated myself to a meal out on the town- and it was delish!

The next day I hopped on the bus and travelled up to Kamikochi- in the wonderous heart of the Japanese Alps. And what a day that was! So pristine, so perfect! The starting point of my four hour walk was Kappa-bashi bridge, which crossed the Azumi river, which was to be my constant companion throughout the trek. I stood on the bridge and watched as the river surged upwards, toward the horizon- confidently bisecting the landscape and leading up to the stark, snow capped mountains which looked down knowingly upon me.

Then I walked on raised, planked walkways which twisted and snaked their way between trees and over streams- eased me over swampy, marshy areas and taking my awe-inspired self onward into groves of flaming, golden pine trees which rained their precious bounty all over me.

It was breathtaking!

I almost choked on my stomach when I turned a corner and saw two Makaks casually sitting by the path. Little did I know that was only the beginning of my monkey sightings for that day- there were dozens of stem playing and screaming and fighting. One let me within a metre of him to take some photos, and when my foot slipped and I startled him, I found myself bowing and apologising profusely! And the funniest thing was, he didn't seem to find it strange, he looked at me as though "yes, you should bow and say sorry, you freaking annoying tourist".

In that setting, my mind could run free- which doesn't happen very often for me. It is only incredibly rarely that I am able to think without watching my thoughts from above like some kind of freakishly self-involved reality-show. It's like I am sitting outside of myself with a pen and a clip-board clicking my tongue and writing a disproportionate number of notes...

But anyway, the point is that for a few hours, I was free from myself! It was nice. Like a cool bath on a stinking hot day.

It was just so beautiful, the trees were raging gold, the river looked like liquid crystal, the mountains were so stoic and wise. When I completed my round trip and returned to the bridge, the sun was setting behind the tree-drenched mountains and lighting them from behind so they glowed like lanterns. I had such a special day out there in the Japanese Alps!

But... and there is one heck of a but.

The night was not to prove as special- well, not in a nice way anyway!

I returned to Matsumoto, and jumped on the bike to get back to my hostel. I sped along the road maybe a little too confidently- the lights whizzing by and the wind surging against me. I turned to jump up off the road and onto the sidewalk, and the wheel snagged on the curb. I was launched like a dowanward cannon into the cement. I lay startled and broken on the ground and just ten metres ahead of me the little walking man turned green, and dozens of feet clopped by my head- not a single one even hesitating. I tried to gather myself up as quickly as possible- I wanted to cast off as much as possible of that "stupid foreigner who can't even ride a bike" cape I had draped all over myself. I saw blood on the ground beneath me, and balancing on one leg- because the other was dead at the knee- me fingers found the gaping wound on my chin. I biked back to the hostel- the most painful experience I have had in a long time.

Now, it should be noted that I use the word 'hostel' lightly here, because it was infact the converted top half of a family's home in which I was, that night, the only guest. So I returned there to a cold and empty 'home', my body completely smashed to pieces and not a soul in the world to even cast my eyes to.

My knee was the size of a grapefruit, if not a freaking rockmelon. I spent the night going back and forth between my bed and the toilet holding myself up by the door frames. I had no idea how the heck I was going to catch the train to my next location in the morning, on a knee with absolutely zero weight baring capacity... and I was a little scared! But it all worked out ok! The hostel owner was an angel! He drove me first to a chemist and ordered my supplies for me, then he took me to the station and carried my bag to the platform for me. He was so kind, and SO helpful, and made up for the fact that Japan had really let itself down on the support front the night before. So I managed to get on the train- not without tearing and choking up a few hundred times, and definitely not without my fair share of stares as I hauled that stupid bag around atop my stumbling, limping, ridiculously slow moving body. Good times!

But OH how it all melted away when I got to my next destination! Traish- the girl who took me to the maid cafe in Tokyo- managed to wrangle me into her host-home for a few nights- as her host family really lived up to their label and opened their home and their hearts to me.

Traish met me at the train station, and off we trotted (or rather... off we slowly and painfully ambled...) to karaoke. Yes, Mad at karaoke! I love what this trip has done for me, I love it so much. A few months ago, I would have avoided karaoke like the plague. Now, Traish says "we're going to karaoke", I say "ok", and I have a damn good time!

The next morning we jumped in the car, and I got a guided tour of Traish's school from the head administrator- or some such guy. It was so interesting, so special, those few days to see Japan through a different set of eyes. I mean, I have had this experience of it as a traveller, as someone passing through- floating above it. But it is SO different when you are down there where the residents reside. It is a different world, and my time with Traish meant I got a brief glimpse into that corner of the country. I really appreciate that, and it has added a lot of substance to my experience here. Mariko- Traish's 'Mum' drove us around all day, we saw Nagoya Castle, had lunch, went shopping a little. Then we went to the 'man' and 'woman' shrines. The first is a grand testiment to the penis as the ultimate luck-bringer, with hundreds of phallic sculptures spread out all over the place for people to worship and pray to. The second is an ordinary shrine, with a couple of vaguely vaginal looking rocks and tree stumps literally shoved into a corner round the back. Oh dear...

That night after an INCREDIBLE dinner cooked expertly by Mariko, all four of us- Traish, Mum, Dad and I- played cards and I felt so very comfortable and happy and accepted as we laughed until we cried and had a lot of fun together. Even though the 'parents' and I could not comprehend a word eachother said, I still feel like we understood eachother, and they really did accept me with open arms. It was so lovely there with them!

Traish took me cycling around her home-town the next day, and it was really special for me to be in this place with someone I love so dearly, to have her show me this world that has held her and moved her for all these months.

That night, and people might need to brace themselves for this one, because the shock could prove too much to bear... that night we went to the onsen! I know... there aren't even words to describe just how monumental the changes must have been in me to see me go and strip down to the ultimate vulnerability in a public place crawling with other people... That moment when I actually had to pull off my clothes- it was like when you push an earring through an ear that has started to close over, that push and crack to open it up again... But once they were off... I felt amazingly free, and comfortable in a way I never have been before. I mean, I am not about to start cruising the streets in the nude, but it was an experience I was glad to have had, and that I really appreicated Traish for allowing for me.

We breathed some special mineral-air, and had doctor fish nibble away at our feet- which was seriously one of the coolest experiences of my life!

I had to say goodbye to Traish the next day, and it hurt!

I was off to Kyoto.

Now I have to list all the temples I went to... have fun reading it!

The first notable temple was Sanjusangen, in which there are enshrined one thousand statues of the thousand-armed Kannon along with one principle image of the same deity which just pulsated presence in the centre of this massive hall filled to the brim with row upon row of bronze statues. It was rather spectacular.

The next on my itinerary for my ridiculously rainy first day in Kyoto was Kiyomizudera which was nestled in the treetops in the side of a mountain like a nest filled with glistening treasures. The rain beat down and the water inched up the legs of my pants, but it somehow just made it all the more beautiful!

I saw Nijo Castle which was really very special. It was incredibly regal and stately, but also simple and humble and unassuming. As I walked around the halls I was accompanied by the gentle twitter of the 'nightingale floor' which squeaks softly whenever it is stepped upon.

I went to the food market which was a world unto itself, and then to Gion which was reall just like stepping back in time. I turned a corner from the dizzying, fast paced, neon lined city street into this ancient fuedal world where a samurai could have dashed out at any second. I didn't see a geisha, and I don't want to talk about it!

The next day I went to Chion-in Temple, Heien-Jingu shrine, Ginkakuji Temple, Eikan-do temple and Nanzen-ji temple. The last three of these were particular highlights as I walked through the most absolutely perfect autumnal gardens and woods and the buildings themselves were really, really beautiful. I followed 'the philosopher's path' between the temples which was pretty pretty I guess...

That evening I wandered an incredibly old lantern-lined street and marveled at it's beauty- and still didn't see a damn Geisha even though they should have been there. Sigh.

I travelled then to Nara- the old capital of Japan. It was a beautiful city- even if the deer that wander the streets are slightly less adorable than they are mangy. Todai-ji Temple is the main attraction of Nara, the largest wooden structure in the world, and housing a MASSIVE statue of Buddha which was awfully impressive.

On the main street of Nara was a little shop which made fresh cakes made from rice which is pounded until it is almost gelatinous and then filled with my new favourite thing on the planet- sweet red bean paste. They smashed the rice right there before my very eyes, and the paste went in and I ate to my heart's content!! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

The next morning I went to Fushini Inari shrine- which I think is my favourite of the MANY I have seen here. I walked up the stairs to the beginning of the torri-gate paths and my heart just melted and spilled out all around me! Oh my god, it was SO perfect! I meandered through the glowing orange gated paths- the splendid wood flickering and flitting in luscious little cameos through the spaces between the poles. Birds were singing their songs and water was gently rapping itself against stone and roots and dirt. There weren't many people there in the morning, which only made the whole experience all the more wonderful! The paths led to little shrine clusters set in all concievable corners of the forest. It looked, in these corners and glens and pond banks as though some giant had been walking with a sack full of thousands of shrines and every once in a while would shake some loose and they sat where they had fallen.

The paths led quite deep into the forest and the further I went, the more the people melted away, until it was just me and the glory of the 'wilderness'. The gates were so beautiful, and the wood felt like another world- another planet. It was almost syruppy, like I was floating, but still held firm and strong...

That afternon I went to Arashiyama and walked through the beautiful bamboo forest there. I found myself at Jojakkoji temple which was tucked away in the corner of these woods, and I felt like I was wrapped up in a downy blanket. The building itself sat atop this beautiful mossy knoll, wrapped almost like a present by a ridiculous number of trees- which were either the deepest, lushest greens or those firey passionate autumn hues I have spoken about so much!

There were more temples, but does every one need a mention? I think not!

The next day I took the Shinkansen down to Hiroshima. I was going to spend the morning on Miyajima- a small island not far from Hiroshima- and then spend the afternoon in the city. What had started as a one day plan soon evolved into two when I arrived at Miyajima and realised that a few hours would never be enough! As I approached the island on the ferry, the beautiful floating torri-gate got closer and closer... it warmed my heart a little!

I climbed up one side of Mt Misen which was one of the great walks of my trip! At the top I was rewarded with a spectacular view of the water and the cities across the liquid expanse. The colours melted so comfortably and naturally into one another- it was like someone had worked for hours getting all the shades just right. I went down the other side of the mountain, and was amazed by how different the two environments were. I went from these stark stone valleys to paths through virtual rainforest- so moist and damp and green.

Then I went back to Hiroshima the next day. And it was one of the densest and most emotionally raw days of my entire journey. Honestly, the moment I stepped out of the train station and into the city, I felt it- something hit me. I was overcome with this incredibly tangible sense of what had happened there and was practically writhing with grief! I mean, it is not a sad city- it is an inspiration really, because it recovered so unbelieveably successfully and is a testament to the human spirit and courage and determination. But... I was just hit by an emotional tidal wave, as all those people all those years ago- they suddenly became all too real. They became everyone who walked past me on the street. I saw a little girl toddle across my path and I couldn't help but imagine her burnt and broken with her skin hanging off her. It sounds awfully morbid... I guess it was a little! It just broke my heart, that people suffered like that, in a way I cannot even begin to comprehend, and it was all at the hands of fellow human beings. Suffering that seems almost impossible to me, suffering that was handed from the minds, thoughts and actions of living, breathing human beings to the very core of other living, breathing human beings. I cannot even get my mind around it. It just balls up in my chest and in my throat, because in no part of me can I understand how that is possible, how that could ever occur. Anyway, it was increibly powerful. The memorials and the museums were moving and rich and increibly impressive. They were so sensitive and insightful and understanding. So human and intimate and honest. There was no bullshit, there was no beating around the bush. It was direct but it was incredibly aware. There was just an incredible amount of care and thought and reflection that went into all those monuments etc... and you knew that the people who worked on them had done so with every part of their mind, body and soul.

Next day I visited Traish one last time and was taken to dinner and karaoke again- good times! And then, on my last day, I visited a couple more temples, including the Golden Pavilion, or Kinkakuji, which was pretty amazing, and then I spent a few hours lying down in the International Manga Museum reading from their library. There are like... a freaking million manga books in there... and about 30 are in English! So, I guess I had something to choose from... ha ha ha... if only I read Japanese.

I didn't make it to the end of the blog last night... and now it is the morn of my last day, I will get on a train soon, to the airport, and then I will wait to step aboard the craft that will carry me home!

I am excited... I am sad and dissapointed and sorry to end this thing I have been doing, but I am relieved and very, very excited to get back home- to see the people I love so achingly and to start my new life there.

I will write one more blog when I am back home- to put a lighter to the ends of the threads so they don't fray... but until then... wish me luck as I wind up this chapter in my life and hope I don't balls it up too bad right at the last second!!!

"Would you really rush out, for me now..."

Well, as my last night in Tokyo starts winding down... and my eyelids start their ceremonious evening drooping- I figure it's a pretty good time to start getting Japan on 'paper' before it has slipped through my fingers.

I arrived in this magical paradise four nights ago. It was not the most auspicious of beginnings in a country- although with me, it never really seems to be.

This leg of the journey is one I'm undertaking well and truly solo. Brooke has headed home. Her journey was complete enough. And ever since the decision was made it has seemed very right to me that I should explore this place alone. For so many years Japan has been the 'place of my dreams' that land of wonder that I let my mind scurry off to during moments when I needed to escape, or to be moved, or to be inspired. How long I have dreamed of this! And here I am... already five days into it and with only 15 to go!!

So, Brooke and I arrived in Tokyo airport, bleary eyed and weary from our epic commute from Toulouse in France to our destination. Here came the farewell, and I managed to balls it all up through my terrible aversion to goodbyes. After months of sharing pretty much everything two people can share (apart from their bodies!) our parting came down to an awkward and clumsy slurring of words and pretty much a pat on the back... oh dear. If she weren't my friend, I'd be worried about the impression I made!
Anyway, I ran away from Brooke and hustled onto the train. And then the fiasco began. I had booked my hostel and had the directions all written out nice and safe in my trusty little notebook. I followed the directions from the Japan Rail lady, changing trains a good three times until I arrived at the station I assumed was the one I needed. But no, it wasn't. I have a Japan Rail pass, so I can catch any Japan Rail line for free. But I'll be darned if all the lines are JR! Ofcourse they aren't! No, Japan has about seven hundred and fifty million train lines... and the station I needed was not on a JR line. So... first I wandered about aimlessly like a sheep that had lost its herd- with my ridiculous bag hanging off my back like a freaking corpse. I stared at the maps with my eyes glazed so thick I may as well have had them closed. I tried to figure out if I could walk the distance between wherever the heck I was and where I needed to be... but I didn't even know where I was, and I sure couldn't read the signs! The key factor here is that I had failed to get any money out, and so I couldn't actually but the ticket to get to the station I needed.
Then it was an Indiana Jones style quest for cash. I walked around for what felt like a lifetime looking for an ATM, and when I finally stumbled on one- glowing on the horizon like a mystical mirage of salvation- it rejected my card.
So, then came the desperate attempts to communicate with people when I had bothered to learn a big fat zero of their language. I pulled out my bank card, repeated "yen" over and over and shrugged a lot. When the woman replied with three fingers and a giant cross made with her arms accompianied by "Three o'clock NO MONEY!" I figured it was a lost cause.

Then the tears came. I choked and spluttered and avoided people's eye contact as I wandered ever more aimlessly trying to think of what I could do. Back down into the subway I went, and with the tears still glistening in my eyes, I sidled up to the conductor, told him the stop I needed, showed him the inside of my empty wallet, and he quickly hustled me through the gate with a makeshift ticket in my hand. What a hero.
And from that moment on, I knew I was home, and I knew I was safe. I walked up the stairs of the station, and staring down at me like a vision from god was my hero- my absolute, honest to god king of all heroes- Takeshi Kitano from the inside of an ad for... I don't know... something Japanese! Boy, any place that has Takeshi Kitano on the subway walls is my kind of place!

So, I was in Japan.

My first day was spent a little hap-dashedly. I didn't have a map, and was still pretty hung over from my jetlag and total lack of recupperation. I just kind of walked around... stopping occassionaly to stare wide eyed at one of the area maps by the side of the road to make sure I wasn't walking up to Hokkaido or something... I stumbled upon Tokyo Tower and up I went in the elevator- fully equipped with a disco-ball-esque light and many uniformed Japanese girls to smile and guide the way. I walked down to Ginza... I was on a mission to locate Kabuki. And I did, and as of that moment, my next day was planned!

My day watching Kabuki Theatre... pretty spectacular! I saw four shows, all of which showcased different kinds of Kabuki- comedy, drama, dance, a love suicide and an introductory sort of actor display...
I have seen some Kabuki before- on screen obviously rather than in flesh- and these renditions didn't make my soul quake and crack like I thought it would based on other experiences. But boy was it still rich! It was so achingly beautiful! The attention to detail, the deep and sombre reverence for tradition, the passion. But the passion isn't that wild passion that spirals out of control like a hurricane. I have found the Japanese to be the most incredibly emotional, deep, profound people. They are so very in touch with their deepest feelings- which has surprised me because I always thought them to be quite repressed. But they are anything but. It is my impression that they have these incredibly rich and textured experiences and feelings... but they also have these incredibly structured and concentrated and controlled manners in which they express this. They have these traditions- these incredibly powerful and all pervading traditions- which are present in society, art, culture, religion... and these traditions spell out how the people express what is in their incredibly open hearts. Some traditions are ancient, and some are modern... but they have their guidelines as to how to behave... and how to express themselves. Or so I have felt!
Anyway, what all this means, is that when you are viewing some art or culture like Kabuki, what you get is this incredibly concentrated bullet of power and emotion. These people take everything that is inside of them, and channel it into this medium which has been perfected within an inch of its life and it just explodes on the stage in this unbelievable, magical performance. It is so gutteral, so visceral, and everyone in that hall understands it. It is so human and so instinctual... yet so taloured and controlled and rigid.
Japan sometimes feels like a living, breathing contradiction... but I think that actually it is just to dense for me to really understand what is going on!
I loved it!
I had my little english earpeice diligently translating not only the words the actors were saying, but also these ancient stage symbols and conventions like a purple headband indicating an ill character, and what really astounded and inspired me about that, was that everyone watching knew that. They are so in touch with tradition and their history and past. In one play, a character was pretending to be a samurai, and the fact that he was not legitimate was communicated to the audience by the fact that he forgot to remove one of his swords before he sat down... seriously... how could they know that!
Anyway, the love and pain and rage and fear that I saw exploding off the stage yesterday blew me away... and I really felt like they meant every tonal-rollercoaster of it, from the depths of their hearts.

Then, after a pretty rich cultural experience of traditional Japanese theatre, it was off to meet Traish and sleaze the night away in a maid cafe! Traish has been on a Rotary exchange here in Japan since January, and she goes home this coming January. I have missed her like my left foot, and it was so special to see her here. Pretty amazing too, to just, you know, meet up with your friend from back in the Blue Mountains in Tokyo...
Her host family had brought her to Tokyo for the weekend, and we were allowed a few hours together! So she took me to a maid cafe. We went up the lift to the fourth floor- dedicated to this distinctly Japanese establishment. Decked out entirely in bright pink- the tables shaped like hearts- Japanese girls with their hair in high-topped pig tails wearing the shortest and frilliest maid outfits imaginable greet you with more enthusiasm than you would think possible in their tiny little frames. They do magic tricks for you as you order, they sing songs and dance on the pink heart-shaped stage. It is quite a spectacle. I was assured by Traish that the men who visit these cafes get a great deal sleazier than our companions, and I don't doubt it!
It was a pretty incredible experience. One I could only ever have in Japan, that is for sure!

I set out the next day to try and see Fuji-san- that epic mountain which has inspired so many. I went to a town in the five lakes district and started to climb a little mountain in the hope of getting a decent view. The moment I stepped up into the leaves and trees and fresh air, I was hit like a mallet my this incredible sensation of "Holy christ... I'm here". I was just so moved and so relieved and so deeply happy that I was here, in this amazing, beautiful, incredible place... and I may have cried a little... and as I walked up that mountain, I could see where myths and legends of forest spirits and tree gods had come from. It really felt alive, those woods. I felt as though I was walking amongst a living, breathing entity. I could feel it tingling along my skin, sometimes it felt like it was laughing or snickering... teasing me a little. When I did finally get to the top... Fuji was hiding from me. I guess even when you are worshipped and revered you can still have self-esteem issues! So I had to make do with my brief glimpse of the mountain out of the train window on my way into tow- before he retreated behind a veil of clouds... Oh well, next time we will get better acquainted.

And today I jumped on the train and off I went to Nikko. So stunning I thought my heart would explode. The autumn leaves were raging like little star shaped fires. Every which way you look there are mountains jutting up into the sky- encasing you with their tree covered facades, the different staged leaves making it look as though someone has spilled a set of autumnal paints down the slopes. Oh my god, it was so splendid! And then as you walk more, there are rivers and streams which carve out their paths through the mountains and the trees, sailing over glistening river stones- the crystal blue of the water set wonderfully against the rich green of the moss at its edge.
Nikko is famous for its shrines and temples. They are world heritage listed... which I think they are pretty proud of, because they take every opportunity to remind you of it.
But there is a reason they are. There are a large number of these shrines and temples, nestled in amongst the forest. The towering trees soar perfectly vertically up above, the moss creeps along the tangled roots, the japanese maples crackle and burn- all shades from dull and resigned orange to a brilliant heart-wrenching vermillion- and the temples/shrines pulse with presence and character.
Nikko was spectacular. It moved me so very much... It made me realise how little time I have left, and how hard I will now push to make sure I can soak up as much as possible.

Japan is my dreamworld it is a fairy land. I am so happy here!

I have been thinking about my trip in terms of someone's favourite song... Wyoming was that first riff, that first little trill that really grabs you and makes your hair stand on end. The rest of America was that part in the first verse, where the song is sort of still getting going. You've grown to love that section because you adore the song... but you always want it to hurry up and get to the good bit when you're playing it to a friend, because you're scared they'll quit before it really picks up and they'll never know how good it could have been. Holland was the chorus. You can sing it over and over and over and it will never lose its resonance. Not even for a second. And everytime you hear it, a little part of you lights up. Italy was your favourite verse, the one with the lyrics you like the best. France was that bit where it dies down for a second... nothing much happens, it goes quiet... because it is leading up to something. And Japan, Japan is that something. You know that moment in a song, that one where something snaps and everything just explodes in pure perfection. It is that part of the song you are secretly waiting for all along, where the singer bends their voice just right, or there is a spectacular piano trill, or the drums and trumpets start up. That part that makes your heart jump into your throat when it happens. That is Japan.

So, that is how I would describe my trip... and being so close to the end, I don't think I can say "so far" anymore... but you never know I guess...

That's all...

"Betty said she prayed today, for the sky to blow away, or maybe stay, she wasn't sure..."

Sitting now in Avignon, France, writing on a ridiculous French keyboard, I realise how much I have to write, and how excrutiating it will be with all letters and punctuation in very much the 'wrong' place in front of me...

But, I need to cast my mind back to Florence now, where I left off last time. That was quite a while ago!!

The first night in Florence, after meeting up with Brooke again, we found the best pizza on the planet, which was extrodinarily cheap, and like Heaven in my mouth. A few days later we went in search of that illusive place for hours, wandering the streets like some kind of zombie type creature, but we never found it. It just appeared for us that one night, like a magical mirage that we could reach out and touvh only for a fleeting moment!

The hostel we stayed in in Florence deserves its own blog, dedicated simply to hashing out the bizzare, surreal details. I'll leave it hanging there, and maybe sometime soon that blog will come. Or maybe it is better to leave it to imaginations...

In Florence there was quite a lot to see. Unfortunately, these sites are all too aware that they are worth seeing, and no expense is spared. Money fell out of my pockets as though I didn't have any pockets... The spectacular cathedral in the centre of the city pulsated as if alive with its green, pink and white marble and melted and dripped with the most intricate and nuanced detail. We huffed our way up the 463 stairs to the peak of the Duomo where we looked out over terracotta rooves which flowed out towards the horizon and then slowly, delicately inched their way up and lightly dotted the hills in the distance. Florence was beautiful. It was stunning, but not like Venice or Chianti or the soon to come Cinque Terre. For me, it was pleasing and pretty and amazing, but not in the heart-wrenching way of other places I have seen. And I estimate the ratio of tourists to local inhabitants to be about 85:1. No kidding, I heard more American voices than Italian.
Sometimes Florence felt a little impersonal. It felt a little tired. Like it is always having to hold up this exterior to keep the masses satisfied, but the effort has drained it and it's stopped caring a little now. It's a bit half-hearted, everything a force of habit and routine rather than passion or commitment or investment. That is not to say I didn't love it to pieces! It just didn't touch me, which is a bit of a pity. I think the city holds so very, very much. It is so multi-faceted and rich, but all its layers are taken for granted from every possible direction and so its lost some of its impact and density.

Gallery day came. We lined up for just over an hour to see my pal David- Michelangelo's David that is... if you didn't get it!
And what an incredible experience that was. I've never seen anything like it in my life. So many of the other 'big' artworks I've seen, the ones drenched in hype and up-talking, they haven't manage to stand up to their name for me. I mean, I couldn't do it... but I hadn't been feeling it. But David is everything he's meant to be and more!!
There he stood; towering over us and he washuge already, but his presence fills every empty space in that room. The skill, the detail, the passion that must have gone into it... You could almost see the blood flowing through the veins which run so astonishingly under his marble skin. I wanted so badly to hold his hand, or give him a massive hug! He feels so alive, the tension fizzes all over his body and he looks like he'll step off the podium at any second! His face was so beautiful, his eyes holding so much fear, so much innocence.
It was perfect.

Then we lined up for pushing on two hours for the Uffizi gallery. It was pretty neat to see Botticelli's 'Birth of Venus' dominating its massive wall and his 'Spring' absolutely blew me away on such a massive, tangible scale.

Then, after a day of culture and art I was ready to plunge myself down into depravity... ha ha ha.
We made some wonderful new friends in the hostel, Rosie from England, Sarah from North Carolina, Aelfwyn from Oregon, Josie from Melbourne... some others came later. Anyway, cheap supermarket wine and drinking games led me down a path ending in embarrassment as I puked all over the place and spent the morning after cleaning up after myself. What a sorry sight. But it was fun, before vomit and raging shame came into the picture. We did meet some lovely people in Forence, and I realised that I have reached a place in my life now in which I can pull it off pretty well. I can handle it, I'm not a social invalid anymore! It's a fair bit more fun this way!

Recovery day followed, but Rosie, Josie, Brooke and I decided to cook and eat dinner together that night which was nice- we had our own little family going.

The next day we crossed the Ponte Vecchio and headed to the Palazzo Pitti, where we wandered the beautiful Bobli Gardens for hours.
I got very lost in the deserted corners of Florence, and felt better that I had gotten to those places, if only for a breath.
That evening we hiked up to Pizza Michelangelo, where we sat overlooking the city and watched the sun slowly inch towards the horizon and flare and blaze in its last hoorah before it ducked behind the hills for the night. We sat, surrounded by the mosy natiral, relaxed, soothing atmosphere, looking out at the entire city and the river, with casual guitar music wafting loosly in the air. It was pretty fab.

The next evening- my last in Florence- Brooke Rosie and I headed to the centre of the Ponte Vecchio to meet Sarah and off we trotted to the Florence Wine Event. 10 euros bought you a wine glass and a tasting card and for three consecutive days you could meandre through the various wine stalls and sample the hundreds of varities that lay under the white, domed mini-tents. We cruised along, with all the other wine tasters- some the full blown and incredibly wanky 'knowledgable' type, and others shameless cheap booze fiends- and chatted contentedly about our lives, the wine, the world, sipping our Italian wine, in Florence. Good times.
I did enjoy Florence immensly. There is a part of me that still feels like I wasn't really there, like I missed something. I didn't spend as much time absorbing the place as I have in the past, because I was busy with people. I guess Florence was just something different for me, and I experienced the city in a different way to the others. There would be no use in having the same experiences over and over again. Florence was different, and it was good!!

Then I was off on my own again. Brooke stayed in Florence for a while, and then her and Rosie went together back to Rome where Brooke met up fleetingly with her family, who are currently touring Europe. She then went back to Florence, and we met again on the bus to Nice.
I however, moved about differently.
I wanted to see Perugia, so I booked a hostel in Torricella, about 20 km from Perugia. It was such a gem of a hostel; Heaven by the lake!
It was a pain to get there on a Madonna-crazy Italian Sunday, but after being screwed over by the train timetable a few times, and shedding a few desperate tears (really only a few!), I got there and the pain of the journey melted away!
The hostel was on the edge of a massive, beautiful lake- Trasimeno. I had moved from Tuscany to Umbria. The people there were beyond lovely and so welcoming- inviting me to eat dinner with them not only on the nights all guests shared the free home-cooked meal with the employees, but even when they ate alone. I got free bike access, free breakfast, free dinner each night (beautiful, fresh, Italian home-cooked food), and if I stayed three nights, I could stay a fourth for free. What a place! So, obviously I changed my plans and stayed four nights instead of two.
My first full day by Lake Trasimeno, I jumped on the bike and cycled 65 km around the circumfrance of the lake. I'm never happier and lore content than when I'm on a bike!! The route took me through various medieval towns and villages which are still operating today. One of the villages was so perfect, so wonderful, going along, minding its own business, nestled in the heart of this medieval citadel on the top of a hill.
Round I went, through the beautiful rolling hills, the calm lake my constant companion to the side- the dull blue of the water almost indecsernable from that of the distant hills, and in turn, the hills from the open sky above me. It was heavenly.

The next day I jumped the train to Perugia. I spent an age climbing the massive hill to the peak, following the endless signs leading to the city centre in what felt like an epic, endless, vertical goose-chase. I finally found an escalator (yes, you could still go FURTHER up!) and up I went, finding myself then in an underground fortress from the middle ages. This is how you get to the city centre, by going up through an ancient underground city! These people who live and work there, every day they come up through the belly of the mountain, using ancient underground tunnel systems to reach the pizzerias, geleterias and supermarkets which perch above them. Holy Hell,what a world they inhabit! What lives they lead...
And boy was it beautiful! There I was, way up on the top of this massive mound of earth, with alleyways and steep staircases worming their way up from all directions. The layout of the city actually makes me think of a Pollock painting in 3d- buildings, streets, pathways all dripped down atop this mountain, some stacking up, some leaking and cascading down the slope.

My next stop was Cinque Terre, my final destination in a country I had grown to love very, very dearly. I definitely would not feel as fondly toward Italy had I not cracked open our basic itinerary and laced the gaps with some diversity.
My time in Cinque Terre had its pock-marks. I was greeted with a large dose of confusion and stress when the hostel I had booked into was everything I would hope to avoid in a place to stay and I had to look for alternatives. It was expensive, damn expensive, but it was worth it in the end. I stayed Rio,aggiore, the first of the five villages, and I think it turned out to be my favourite also. The buildings, the rainbow hued houses are perched up in the curves and folds of the cliff face and spill doan like candies toward the edge of the water. I had to trek half way up and effing mountain to get to my room, but once I got up there, heaving and sweating and weak at the knees, I was rewarded with a glorious view of the ocean.
I would eat dinner each night, perched out on the massive stones which dam the marina and relax, surrounded by the crystal blue waters as the sun sank into its wet bed.
The first day I hiked the trail which links the five villages, stopping in each to explore and recover. I walked along the cliff-face, the sea pulsing next to me doan below. Each town was equally as breathtaking, and quaint seems almost patronising, but it's what they were!

There were trillions of tourists, but I did get some brief glimpses of local life. Once, I walked past a church, and sitting on the step was a nonna in her apron, bouncing her baby grandson on her knee, singing passionately to him. Pretty special!
I only had two full days in Cinque Terra, the second was spent lazing at the beach, and hiking a little and eating my dinner again by the ocean as I watched the sea endlessy pound at the rocks, without a moments reprise. I felt so exhausted looking at the ocean that night, and I realised how important it is to rest a little, to let the blood pump slower for a while- ease the pressure so you don't burst.

So that was what Nice was for. I did nothing the entire time we were there. I lay by the beach, I lay in bed, I read and I ate baguettes.
Japan is coming up in a week now, and I have looked forward to it for too long to arrive there and realise I haven't the energy to make the damn most of it!
We met some FABULOUS people in Nice; The first night, Brooke, Erin from Wagga and Josie from Missouri and I sat huddled around Erin's mac watching American Warewolf in Paris and laughing our asses off. The next night we all went to 'Chez Wayne's' where the bartender was Aussie, and the only word in French was 'Sortie' (or Exit) so the locals know how to get the Hell out. But we had a lot of fun, and they were wonderful girls. We had gone in a futile search for mal-advertised bingo, which we were pretty epically dissapointed to find was not offered. What a rip.
Kyle from California came the next day after Josie left and settled pretty comfortably into our little Nice crew. We all got along incredibly well, and had a lot of fun together. But I really did very little there.
Now I'm in Avignon, and in about 8 days I fly to Japan, and I plan to do very little while I am here also. Take that society!

And I think that is about it...

Until next time...

"But I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time..."

Ok, I've been a bit lame on the keep people updated front. I'm trying to balance myself for a little on that dang ball again, hopefully I can stay on it long enough to get something out. Well, I've been busy... yes I have been busy.
When last I wrote, I was still surrounded by the splendour that is Venice. I have moved around my fair share since then.

So, our transport of choice from Venice all the way through to Rome is Busabout. Set routes exist throughout Europe, and the bus comes through it's set stops on alternate days, and you are free to jump on and off whenever you please, and stay in each place for as long as your heart desires.
So, we trudged onto the bus in Venice at eight in the morning, ready for our day of travel.

The drive was breathtaking, as we wound along roads suspended as though they were floating amongst the dips and folds of the Tuscan hills. Everything would flash dark as we'd drive through the heart of a hill, held for a breath in the belly of these mounds of earth, like a baby growing in its mother.
When we arrived in Rome I was holding it together better than I have been known to on travel days. We stayed at another campsite, as we had in Venice, the recommended Busabout accomodation, where they drop you off and pick you up. Well, these places make me just a little bit sad. They are made up largely of Australians, who have travelled overseas seemingly with the sole intention of grouping with other Australians within the confines of the camping ground and getting very, very drunk, very, very often. They have made it over here, to these utterly incredible places, with so much wonder and beauty and magic, and they're missing it! All they see is the inside of the hostel and the bottom of their beer glass... and I can't help but think... what is the point?

The next day was our Rome Orientation Day. We wondered, ready to see what we would stumble across... We saw the Trevi Fountain, which was majestic and captivating. The tourists swarmed like ants with cameras, but it didn't feel as hollow and empty as other scenes have throughout my travels, I could feel a soul there. Maybe it is the rich history, the stories... Brooke said it was because these people were truly and honestly HAPPY to be there, and I saw a lot of truth in that.
We saw the Pantheon, and church upon church upon church. The sheer size of these buildings astonished me the most. I stepped inside and instantly felt myself shrink to the size of a freckle. And the space in there, in these places, it was like it was somehow larger than the open air outside it, like the Tardis of the ancient world.

And I really did feel soemthing in these spaces. My breaths felt deeper, like I needed to suck soemthing into the heart of me. So old, so massive, so textured amd intigruiging and simply incredible to walk on stones layed by human beings with lives and thoughts and ideas who lived so very very long ago- to run my fingers along walls they built up with their hands in another time, another world. It was kind of mind blowing.

The next day we were joined in our adventures by Maik, a German student who was sharing our cabin. It is very different, travelling with someone you don't know. Brooke and I were so used to the way we operate throughout the day, the way we manuveur things and make decisions, and it was really interesting to have someone else just thrown right in there, into the works. It makes you notice things you wouldn't have otherwise, brings certain things into the light when they used to sit in the shadows...

Woke up the next day, and off the the Coloseum we were. By this point in our trip, the jokes had started, as it really settled in how incredible this is, this thing we're doing. "Oh yeah, just off to the Coloseum today, whatever dude, totally normal...". This really is our lives. Holy Hell.
And boy was the Coloseum incredible. I could feel my stomach in my throat when we stepped into that epic piece of history. We walked around Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum, chatting about the silliest things in the most incredible locations. We saw Trajan's Column, the Arch of Titus, the Arch of Septimius Severus. The world that had been a part of suffocating me last year as I studied and studied and studied it... it had come to life around me, like pictures stepping out of a story book. It's much more beautiful this way. I prefer it alive rather than dead and cold.

As usual, I ballsed thinsg up a little the next day, and I thought it was my last in Rome before I went ahead to Tuscany for my little lone adventure. We saw the Spanish Steps, cruised around Duomo Aureaus. We saw Circo Massimo, and as Brooke took the Metro 'home', wound through some back streets, up hills and round sharp little corners, past Italian men chatting excitedly about something near their feet. Vines wept and dripped and spilled off buildings and cascaded like green hair from lamp posts above quaint little restaurants. I was pretty spectacular!
After I readied all my crap for my 'departure' on the bus in the morning, we ate dinner. Brooke handed me her leftover pizza and as I munched away at it, I glanced down at the date on the wrapper, and low and behold, I was a day ahead of myself. I just picture myself that next morning, up at the crack of dawn, waiting for a bus that never came... pizza saved me.
So I spent my read last day in Rome walking. Boy did I walk that day. I just walked, and watched where my feet would take me.

So, now we had my first travel day on my own. How would I hold up? Hmmm... I was getting the Busabout to Florence, and from there I would travel out of the city about an hour to Chianti, where I was staying four nights.
The bus had a bonus stopover in a little town called Orvieto, perched in the face of a cliff. The bus stopped, and we ventured into the pouring rain, took a little trolley train to the halway point of the mountain, and then a bus to the top. I got an ace to tuck up my sleeve when a woman from the bus couldn't enter the majestic cathedral because her skirt was too short, and her shirt to low, and she asked me to take photos with her. I used the magic card when I gave the camera back and latched onto the group. We had coffee, the best I have had in a LONG time in this charming little coffee shop, up there, nestled in the face of the cliff. I met Naoko from Sydney, whom I really really liked. She came from Japan, so we chatted endlessly about my trip there, as she piled on the advice like... peanut butter on warm toast. We wondered a little in this stunning village, disovered a market, and ran back down the mountain to make the bus on time.

When we arrived in Florence, it was 15.00, and I wasn't going to be picked up until 20.00 at the train station on 40 minutes out of Florence... sigh. But Naoko took me to her hotel, where the lovely Italian man who ran it let me leave my luggage, and she and I wondered the city for a few hours. Then I had to say goodbye, and I was off and running. Well, kind of. I was still awfully early when I arrived in Pistoia, and had to wait an hour and a half out the front of the train station for the shuttle to come and take me to the hostel. But it came, and it took me!
And there I was in Chianti, and I swear, it was Heaven on earth. The place I stayed was a villa perched on the peak of a hill flooded with olive groves and vineyards. My first morning I looked out at the view, and tears pricked my eyes, I was so incredibly happy. The silence felt like a cool shower washing over me. I just could no believe the place I was in. I still cannot. It was like a dream.
It was so perfect... so wonderful.
The ashy grey olive trees, the gentle rolling hills... the actual sound of birds! I stood there with this world rolling out around me, my heart beating faster just out of pure joy, and I could hear a man whistling off in the distance, somewhere further down the mountain. My heart could have burst.
I rode the bike down the twisting, winding road looking out over the side of this epic Tuscan hill as I delved further into its heart. Gosh it was so beautiful. I explored Vinci, where Leonardo was born, a stunning little village which broke my heart it was so pretty. Fig trees dotted the roadside, and I ate the beautiful fruit which were so sweet they actually dripped their liquid sugar. I wandered through the vinyards and olive groves and found myself at the top of a hill which overlooked the countryside and revealed all its glory. That night I sat with my dorm mates in the candlelit dining room of the hostel, the villa which has been in the family of the owners for over 700 years, and I ate ameal prepared in the kitchen, by the wife of the owner- a genuine Italian meal, prepared by an Italian matriarch in her very own kitchen. How perfect is too perfect I ask?
The next day I walked down the other side of the hill and back up again in the scorching heat and despite the intense difficulty of the 20km walk, half of it pretty much vertical, there was not one trace of negativity in me, not a sinewy strand, not a grizzly speck. I was SO happy.

When I went to cook my dinner that night, I discovered I had nothing to light the stove with, and as reception was closed until late evening, I decided to walk 3 kms into down the road to the tiny little town there to buy myself some fire! The thunder started warning me just as I stepped out the gate and I realised I didn't care in the slightest. A dog howled at the grumbling sky. Just as I was wondering when the rain would hit me, and realising how very much I didn't mind, the water started to speckle my shirt, and I felt inexplicably joyous. The road smelled deliciously rich, that wonderful odour it gets after singeing all day, when the liquid finally hits. It was so beautiful!
I bought my new lighter, and when I stepped out of the Tabacchi, I was sruck like a hammer to the face by this place I was in, and its beauty. I saw out over the valley as the rain fell and the houses and trees and roads steamed. The sun glowed behind the clouds like a muslin cloth had been draped over it. On the horizon, little pools of water, maybe lakes or lagoons were illuminated by stray beams of sunlight and it looked as though someone was melting gold in the sky, and some had dripped down to earth. I walked back in the rain, lighter now, and still making me incradibly happy.

I spent my last day in Chianti with Sarah, my newest dorm mate. We walked 25 km together, chatting, eating figs and grapes and hoarding chestnuts like squirrils (we couldn't eat the chestnuts... they were no good unfortunately). I had such a lovely time with her, cruising the Tuscan hills with this woman I had just met! I felt so wonderful in that hostel, so comfortable, so at home. It really was Heaven for me!
And then I came to Florence, met up with Brooke here, and we've been exploring these last 2 days.
But that is another story, for another day!

So, Ciao!!!

"When the moon hits your eyes, like a big pizza pie, that's amore".

It's back! My passion is B-A-C-K!!

WOO HOO!

Well, last blog I wrote was maybe not the best choice of my life. I have been in better places emotionally and mentally in my time, and trying to force myself to feel inspired is never going to end in fireworks and parades. But, now something has switch-flicked inside me and I am running at full cpacity again. That, coupled with the fact that I have discovered a brilliant way to pull one over these con artists who charge me 3 euros an hour for the internet (I type all correspondances in Word Pad, and copy and paste it- using minimal internet minutes... gosh I am a genius), means that I am now going to write another blog, because I feel like I really need to do this corner of the globe justice. I need to express what it has meant to me, now that I am able to let it mean something real.

I was a little worn down when I arrived here. Not unhappy, I was just finding it hard to be inspired and moved by what I was doing and seeing. I'm not going to hover around that fact like a fly on a turd, because I'm through with it now, but that's how it was, and it's not anymore.
Today I went to Burano, a little island of Venice where they make a lot of lace. The buildings are coated with the brightest, most vibrant colours, pinks and yellows and torquoise blues. Walking around that perfect little island was like walking in a rainbow. It was like all my childhood plans to reach the rainbow, to touch it and ride it like a slippery-dip had become a reality.
I walked through the tiny little alley-ways between people's homes and for these brief breaths as I passed someone's door, or their window I sank into their lives. I could hear the most intimate sounds- the water beating the tiles in someone's shower, the tinkle of cuttlery being washed in the sink. People's washing draped the edges of my vision and cats slinked around the corners in copious numbers, some eating left-over pasta put out for them on a sheet of newspaper.
Sometimes the breeze would blow the curtain covering someone's gaping doorway and I would be offered a guilty little glimpse of the interior- an old woman eating lunch in the centre of her sparse living room, an ancient framed photo of a man from years ago- who knows who that man was, and what he meant to the people who placed his image there. Maybe it was all a bit voyueristic of me... and maybe it was a bit creepy... but it's such a central part of what I love about this trip, about travelling, seeing the reality of these different universes, the different shades of humanity. I love being able to drink it up a little, just for a moment, to take a sip of what it is like to be someone else, and to live this different life.
So, I had fun!

I really love Venice dearly. It's a very special place. I am so happy to be here, I am so happy to be doing this, and I am so happy that I am happy for it all.

"And so it is, just like you said it would be, we both forget the breeze, most of the time..."

Hoooweee have I moved about a fair bit since last we met...








So, the first notable event in the chronology of my notable events was when Mum's friend Nicolet took me through a worm-hole, on the other side of which I could explore and breathe and touch and smell the world my Mum inhabited 'way back when', when she was a little Dutch girl, and not my mother.









Nicolet lived just around the corner from my Mum in Zevenaar for maybe about two years before Mum moved to Australia. They knew eachother for such a brief moment, a momentary sigh in a lifetime of breathing in and out, and still they are members of eachother's lives... I'm still incredibly impressed by that. So, first Nicolet picked me up in Doorwerth, and we drove to Zevenaar, where her parents still live in the same home. For a day my mother's world unfolded around me like a flower, and at the same time, it folded back up, tight around me, as I sat in the centre of this universe, safe and warm and cosy.



Nicolet took me to Mum's old house. We knocked on the door and were greeted by the very woman who bought the house from my family years ago. When Nicolet told her who I was, and what my relationship to the building was (and once the woman had done her secret spy business, sneakily sussing out if we were legit or not by quizzing us on the surname of the previous occupants), the doors were flung open, and I was invited through a window into the past. I stood in the loungeroom where my Mum, aunt, Opa and Oma would have sat and chatted, I stood in their kitchen where they would have made pea soup and prepared coffee, I stood in the back yard where maybe the sisters played, and where Opa and Oma would have sat to get every second of available sun.


Then I was invited upstairs where I breathed in Barbara's old bedroom, heard how the bathroom had been renovated, saw the master bedroom, where my grandparents slept, and finally, I stood there, totally awe-struck at the life I am living, where I can be there, in person, standing in my mother's bedroom that she inhabited so long ago when she lived such a different life. There I was, looking at the walls that surrounded her when she slept, and looking out the window at what was once a view of Nicolet's bedroom across the way... but what is now a view of a tree which has filled the frame over the years.





Pretty special.





I saw Zevenaar, Nicolet and I had fun watching the intensity with which people enjoyed the country music festival that was on there. We crossed the river on a barge, and drove through Bemmel to Nicolet's house. I was greeted there so openly and warm heartedly, and spent the afternoon and evening in the loveliest company, and very contented. It was special to me to share that day with Nicolet, where I could first inhale the world she shared with my Mum, and then move on to, for a brief moment, witness and be a part of the world she has made for herself since that time. I am a lucky, lucky girl!!



The next day I sat around on my butt and did a big fat nothing. Wait, I lie, I TOTALLY baked an apple pie. Photographic proof of that fact will come at a later date, but for now, you will have to construct your own images of me, Madeline Ellwood, baking. Good times. Mechtild helped me obviously. I'm pretty skilled, but not that skilled.



Then came my last day in Holland... it was over. The day after I would leave was Hadewig's birthday, so on the Monday we went out to dinner to celebrate. Indonesian food in Holland. Yummo. Our table was laden, it tasted so incredibly good- otherworldly good. If I had ignorantly looked into my own heart, I never would have guessed that I hadn't known these people my entire life, that I hadn't shared my life with them. I love them all so much.

As I left on the train the next day, I reflected a lot on Holland and what it had been to me, what it is to me and will be forever. I felt satisfied. I felt like I had achieved something by being there. I had taken in so very much, absorbed like a sponge to the point where it just drips- it cannot absorb any more! I still don't feel like I can articulate what it was for me to be there and to live the life I was living while I was there. But that is something I discovered, that a development, a growth, an achievement- it doesn't have to be labelled and clear and explainable to be a reality. It used to always be there, in the back of my mind, that something isn't real until you can define it. But that's not true. So, I can't write a list of things I know now that I didn't know before. I can't locate all the parts inside myself that have been altered and shifted and pushed forward or pushed aside or pushed right out. I can't tell you exactly what it is about me that is different, I just know that the life I will live now is going to be so vastly different to the one I would have experienced if I had not had my time there, with those people.

I left the country feeling so energised, so passionate, so excited about life and the world and all the things I was going to do. I have so many plans, so many ideas- ideas and plans I NEVER would have imagined myself to come up with, but which I am now so very and truly excited to initiate.

Holland did something to me. When I was there, everything was just right, and I didn't have to work for it. At some point during my time there, it was like all the problems I had struggled and grappled and wrestled with my entire life, those issues which had always seemed so imsurmountable, it was like I was cycling so hard against the wind one day, that they all just washed away! And I didn't have to 'decide' anything, I didm't even 'figure anything out'. I just reached a place, a space, a time, where those things were done with me and I was done with them. How wonderful, how incredibly special. I had this surreal moment in which I thought about all those things that had once plagued me, all those experiences that had consumed me, and I felt so strongly as though I was thinking about another person. That stuff was no longer a part of me.


Then I went to Paris. Paris was beautiful, stunning. I really enjoyed my time there. Even though it was so amazing, I still feel a distance between myself and the city. I for me, it lacked a certain humanity. One thing I loved to dearly about Holland was how unassuming and humble it was. It was always content enough in itself, knowing that it's good and true, and it never needed to prove itself or remind anyone how perfect it was. Paris I feel has all these incredible qualities. It's culturally rich and inspiring, it's so dense. It has so much character, so much personality. However, I also feel like Paris knows it, and Paris makes a large point of reminding everyone at every possible moment just how special it really is. It's hard to feel totally comfortable when you're being reminded every second that the place you're in is better than you!!
Don't get me wrong though, I loved it. I loved being there, I loved seeing the things I saw, I loved breathing in the spirit of a place that has moved the deepest parts of so many people. I felt the layers of paint being lathered onto my understanding of the world, and of people, and of art and passion and history. Paris was a wonderful experience!

We climbed the tower, first half with Brooke on foot, and the second half alone in the lift to the top. I wondered the cobble-stone streets which wove me through some of the most beautiful sites I've seen, buildings that made me ache they were so pretty, little french children dressed as alligators flitting about me in the park sounding even more perfect in their little french tongues than children do anyway. I saw stunning churches, St Germain and Madelaine were particular favourites- the latter becoming even more awesome that it was simply by bearing my name, by miraculously housing an art exhibition about creation which ended the day after I stumbled to its feet. What were the chances!?!?!

Brooke and I spent a day in the Lourve just wandering about... looking, watching, thinking, feeling. What a space. What an epic, epic space.

We went to the Chateau of Versailles, which was incredible. For a day I was walking around in a fairy tale, just a totally different world which was so far removed from anything I have experienced in my life, and so beautiful. The walls just dripped with decadence, but it was so beautiful, and really incredible to see inside the walls of a universe who's corners barely reach those of my own.

My last day in Paris, I was struck down again with the transition blues- that smack in the head I seem to get every time I move from one place to another. We were waiting all day for our train to Venice that night, and I spent the entire day wallowing about in my own special brew of woe... oh dear.
I was lonely and sad. I missed Holland and the life I had been living there. I missed loving people I thought I didn't know, but soon discovered that I knew them in a way which reached beyond anything I had experienced. I missed how that place felt like a kiss on the cheek or a hug that spreads out forever. I missed feeling accepted and loved and understood. I missed not feeling like I had to explain myself every 5 seconds. I missed being someone just by being me...
Most of all though, what made me so tired, made me feel like I had smacked nose-first into a brick wall, was that in Holland I was excited and moved and impassioned simply by being alive. Something in that place soothed me and told me everything was good, everything was alright. But now that I had left it- it wasn't so easy to remember those things. I had to rely on myself to tell myself... and sometimes I am not so reliable. It made me tired to have to drive the car and come up with the fuel as well. But, well, that's the way it is. I can't depend on outside sources to inspire me and give me purpose and motivation. I'm slowly working on taking what Holland gave me, and learning to apply those things to my life away from there. I'll get there soon.

We arrived in Venice early morning the next day, after sleeping one very rocky night in a train bed. Brooke had the bottom bunk, and slept the entire night with her body on a width-ways slope because of the hill our bags moulded by being crammed so tight underneath. I was so hot I thought I had died and been sent to Hades...

But, then we were in Venice. It is so beautiful here. I wrote postcards yesterday, and I think I set a world record for the number of uses of the world beautiful. But really, I don't know how else to say it! It's as though someone opened my chest, and with pincers, delicately extracted my definition of beauty from my heart, and with that, they moulded this city. Then they added about 100 million tourists, and removed all the easily accessible and FREE public toilets, and there you have Venice. But really, it's so wonderful it's not even funny.
All I do is wander about, letting the streets lead my where they think I should go. Mum sent me a quote from her Venitian cookbook "The number of times I went out in Venice was the number of times I got lost. But I was never really lost. You're always somewhere in Venice". it was followed by "go stick THAT in your blog", and I damn-well will! Because it is SO true. I mean, there's not so much, activity wise to do here, but I could not be more contented just letting my feet carry me around as the canals and tiny little alley-ways and balconies and washing lines and perfect cobbled roads just wash all around me and I drink them all up. It's really, really... wait for it... beautiful.

Yesterday I went to Verona, on Hadewig's advice, and was duly rewarded with an absolutely breathtaking little city. I loved exploring it. I saw Juliet's house, and wished I had a Romeo... sigh...

And now I pay WAY too much for the internet, so I will be done for now. I am taking a day's break today, so I'll go play more solitaire on my ipod...

Ciao!!!!

"in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or things i cannot touch because they are too near"

Well, maybe now I am ready to write about my epic emotional martini-shaker experiences of the past couple of days...? The only way to find out, is to try!


I haven't wanted to talk to anyone about it all, or even to think about it too much- it has been a long processing period, but I think I have now reached the point in that process where I can, and in fact need to, write about it a little bit!





So... well, I guess I'll start at the beginning, which is in fact, the day before 'The Party'.
Mechtild, Nuky and I all had breakfast together, before we jumped on the bikes and cycled into Arnhem. Here I bought my train ticket to Paris on the 25th, and there it was, on paper and in ink- Madeline is leaving Holland. Right in front of my face in a form that I can see and touch (and taste if I really felt like it...), tangible proof that this isn't just my life, that it is actually a holiday, a small period of time which is now coming to an end- well, changing at least. I'm so excited to go to France and Italy and Japan after that. I'm SOOOOO happy to see Brooke again and continue exploring the world with another set of fresh eyes next to me. But I'm also incredibly sad to leave this part of my journey behind me. Incredibly, INCREDIBLY sad.


How terrible that I complain about going to Paris!! Just as well I'm not really complaining!!!


Anyway, then we went to the market, where Mechtild and Nuky bought fresh fish, which were individually picked out by them, and then gutted and scaled by the guys right there before my eyes. Might I mention, these 'fish men' did not wear gloves while they went about their work, and I have to say, I pity the women they go home to and greet with those hands...


We had coffee on a terrace next to the Rhine River which also runs through Holland, and really, I couldn't be in a place any further from where I was trapped only last week. I could not feel more at ease and comfortable with these people. I look at them, and what I see gleaming back at me is my FAMILY- people who love and accept and embrace and take care of me because I am me. What a feeling that is...


Mum told me I HAD to try loempia while in Holland, so we made a reservation at a Thai restaurant in Arnhem that my new foster parents had always wanted to explore. It was here that we headed back to that evening (the bikes got a rest that night, as we took the car this time...). We sat in a beautiful garden by a fountained pond, under a large umbrella which protected our delicate skulls from the heavenly barrage of pears that rained all over us from the tree overhead. We sat for hours as the sun slowly crept into bed and the lanterns were woken from their daylight redundancy, and we ate beautiful food, drank lovely wine, and spoke freely and openly and plenty... Once again, I could just breathe the beautiful evening and the even more beautiful company and not choke myself all night.





Then... it was Sunday! Before I woke that morning, my dreams were studded with family members who sourced and share my Dutch blood. Great Oma wondered about in my mind probably the entire night, and a slice of my dream was spiced with spoken Dutch. I'll never know if it was ACTUAL Dutch... but the intention was there, and Mum says she reckons it was!!

So, I woke up, and I got ready, and I ate breakfast, and I wasn't TOO nervous! Ursula (Oma's sister) Hein (her husband) and Xander (their son) all came to Mechtild and Nuky's beforehand.

It occurs to me now how easy it would become for these meetings to, with time and repetition, become just ticks on a list. How maybe I could even be forgiven for it being so. But it just has not been like this. Every single encounter I have had with any family member has been so special and so personal and so layered. Not every time has it changed the face of my world forever, carving canals and niches I never knew I could carry- but every single time it has genuinely meant so much to me, and coated my heart in another layer of velvet.

So, meeting these three in the home I was staying in, having Hein joke and laugh with me as though he had done so at every Christmas dinner since I was a baby, having Ursula smile so sweetly at me I thought I would melt, having Xander sit with me and talk with me with so much love and calm that I felt I could never be safer... it was wonderful!



Then we jumped in the car, and off we drove, Mechtild, Xander, Hein and I to Great Oma's home to pick her up for her 94th birthday party. There she sat, in the sitting room, already made up, around her neck the owl pendant my Oma had sent her as a present. We went to her room and Mechtild sorted through the pile of birthday cards that cascaded off the table- dozens of little folded pieces of paper from all over the world, filled with words of love and hope and affection. How incredible it must be for such a woman as my Great Oma, to sit and look at yourself and your life, and see beneath you such a wide-reaching, diverse root system branching out for miles and miles across so many years, so many countries, so many many lives. What it must feel like to look at this entity and know that you created it. I can't even begin to imagine.

I talked to Oma with Hein as a translator, she told me that she would go to France instead of me, and I would stay there in her place. Here I was with the matriarch of half my world, and she was joking with me. There aren't words, there really aren't!



We walked with Great Oma up the tree-lined path to the restaurant where her party would be. I keep feeling like maybe there's not so much to tell- there aren't that many 'stories' about the day, but that is directly due to the biggest 'story' of all, which is just how natural and right and proper it all felt. It felt right for me to be there, and that is something I have felt so little in my life. To feel right somewhere, to feel like I am in my place, to feel good about being who I am- because being that person makes me part of something beautiful, and nothing more is asked of me beyond that. There I was, walking up the road, pushing Great Oma's chair, and that was where I was meant to be, and there was nothing odd or wrong or out of place about it- nothing awkward or doutbful.

When we got to the end of the road, a woman stood there with two children, and I saw Mechtild look at Xander, and I saw them both look at the woman, and I saw the children stare at Great Oma, until they finally ran up and kissed her. With sighs and laughs and kisses all round everyone raved about not recognising one another, and having no idea who had been facing them across the road. So it wasn't just me who had trouble remembering all the members of such a ridiculously large family.

And so it began. I spent the next couple of hours giving my mouth and neck a good work-out giving seven trillion air-kisses. I met family member after family member, and each and every time, no matter who was in front of me, the same thing happened. Either I would introduce myself, or be introduced, or further explanation would be needed "Madeline, the daughter of Melanie, the grand-daughter of Monique", but as soon as my identity was established a light would come over the person's face "OH! Ofcourse! Welcome!!" and I could see it in their eyes, see it in their smiles, that they really meant it, every one of them. I am part of their family, and I am welcome with them. Really genuinely welcome, in a way I couldn't doubt even if I wanted to.
So, I met more and I met more, and I am not entirely sure who I met, because there are so very, very many. Dedmer chastised me for pouring myself a glass of wine at one o'clock in the afternoon, and I jokingly said I needed to relax. I use the word 'jokingly' in a way I don't think the dictionary writers would much approve of. I know I talked about how right it all felt, and how welcome I felt, but it was still overwhelming. Never in my life have I met so many new people at one time, and certainly never have every single one of those people inherently meant something to me. I've never been very good socially, and this was one massive social-soup. So, maybe I was a little nervous... but I powered through. And, I did pour myself that glass or two of wine- after all, it was a Strategier gathering!

Jonas made me miss my brother as I talked with a sensitive, intelligent, insightful young man who never-the-less was still very clearly a 16 year old boy. Michael was sure that everyone spoke in English when I was around, so I couldn't chicken out of the conversation, and he made me feel equal, respected, as though I was just as worthy as anyone else this world might contain. Ofcourse, he squeezed this in between leaping and bounding and grazing his arm as he laughed and played and satisfied the insatiable desires of the children. Something I have discovered, particularly about the men of the Strategier family- they all have the hearts of children- there is so much playfullness, so much energy and life and vibrancy and an absolute refusal to let go of the magic and joy of childhood. This is something I've always respected so much in a person, the ability to hold onto that genuine and wholeheartedly joyful way of looking at and feeling the world. It's pretty damn special I think.
I wanted SO badly to talk to Felix. Something inside of me was just screaming "you have to get just a few words in with this man, or you'll be walking around with a hole in you forever". I got a few spade-fulls of soil in the hole. It's still not covered over, but I managed to tie him down for about half a second and I speedily and desperately told him how badly I wanted to talk with him, and how impossible he was to peg down- like jelly through your fingers. So he hustled me along "come, come, come" and planted me next to his seat next to Great Oma and I got a few minutes before he sprinted off again to keep entertaining, to keep spinning magic between the tables and chairs and trees. I don't know quite what it was I felt toward him, but still, even now, when I think of him, something inside me snaps and starts oozing something which I can only describe as liquid inspiration. That feeling I get in my stomach and in my gut when I see a film that changes my life, or hear a song that is so perfect I want to cry, or see a painting which is everything a painting can be... that's the feeling I have about this man, and I don't really know where it comes from, and I certainly don't know where it will lead, but I got to meet him, and it was special.
There's also so much creativity in the family, as everyone has something to share and a different way to share it. So much art, so much music, so much expression. It's a special thing to see, and an even more special thing to be a part of.

So, yeah, there I was. I was at a family party. My whole life I've wished I could be at these gatherings. My whole life I've lamented the distance that excluded me from this world. But there I was, actually sitting there, right in the middle of it. Dad said on the phone the other day "you really are a family girl, aren't you?". I had never really thought about it, but boy am I ever! I love it SO much, to a degree beyond measurement, sitting there surrounded by life and movement and happiness and activity and seeing between all this, these ties which are linking each and every person to everyone else. And those ties are linked to you as well... and it's just this whole other world- family. There are different rules, different laws, different expectations. It's not like the rest of the world, it's not like 'normal' social situations. You're just on a totally different planet when you're with family. And it doesn't matter if you don't know them, because you know them and that's good enough in such a world, and with such rules. I just totally love it. I love families and I love families together, and I can't wait to have a million kids and spend a million hours with them and with everyone else who has even the longest of ties attached to my belt!

Another really special thing about this whole family business- something I am only just discovering because of the petite nature of the slice of family I have back in Australia- is the way spouses and partners, husbands and wives fit into the puzzle. Every partner of any blood member of the family is just as much a part of the family as anyone else. There isn't even a trace of a line between the two, not even a residual remnant of some kind of division or point of separation. So seamlessly they melt into the world and become 'one of the clan', and for someone with very little experience of family outside the nucleus, this was such a pleasant and special surprise, and an added dimension that hadn't really occured to me but which has made me so happy to see.

So anyway, there's not that much to say anymore about it really. I spent five hours there with these people, and it was incredible and very, very special for me. It is something I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life. It is something I will forever be thankful for having experienced. It is one of those times that come almost to define you- as you look over your life and see what is most important to you shining like little beacons spread out across your entire experience of the world, and you can see who you are and what you've become.
I was so lucky to be there, and I am so lucky to be a part of this.

I said goodbye to so many, many people. Even though most of them I will possibly never see again, there was a feeling that I wasn't really saying goodbye. Maybe my brain just couldn't handle so much in one day, and ignored the fact that I was saying goodbye, but it felt like I was saying "see you tomorrow" or "see you next week", not "see you possibly, maybe, if I come soon to your country again, and you're around, or maybe if you come to my country, and you know and think to contact me when you do...". So, what this means I'm not 100% sure, but that is how it felt!

Hadewig and Dedmer came back to Mechtild and Nuky's for a while before they drove home. Ok, at this point in the day, there was not much left in little old me. I was wiped. It had been an incredibly overwhelming day and I'd soaked up a lot... and I felt, well, over-cooked. I lay on the couch, nearly fell asleep, ran up the stairs to cry like a baby, and blubbered more when I had to say goodbye to Hadewig and Dedmer again. It was hard enough the first time! I love those guys so much! I can't even begin to comprehend the fact that when I am back home, they won't live on the same land-mass as me. To feel like someone is so much a part of your life, but to know that they are nowhere near you is such a bizzarre feeling... one that my brain can't quite grasp a hold of.

Anyway, I said that painful goodbye, and thinking about it now, it begins to hurt again, even though I know now that I will see them in a few days- but then I'll have to go through it all again!!! I said that goodbye, and it was made awfully clear that I hate goodbyes and wish they didn't exist... and then I sat around, and ate some food, and went to bed... yep, that was my day!

So, there you have it, the party... I don't think there's more to add there... I think I said most of it.

The next day I woke up VERY late, cycled to Arnhem again, ate too much licorice again, ran into Nuky on my way home and followed him his long way back, and it was during this journey that I experienced the single most frustrating moment of my entire trip. Holland is flat as a squashed frog, but I guess the area I'm in is the knee-bones or something, because the only hills in the country are here. So, I'd already cycled 10 kilometres to Arnhem, then about 6 back to Oosterbeek and a fair way of this was up hill, and I cycled hard... ok it may not sound so difficult, I get it, but whatever, I won't lie to create drama... but then as we rounded off the journey, and Nuky warned me that his special route would present quite a hilly-challenge for me, I was determined I would not be defeated! No, I would make it up that hill. I've never really been competitive, but I've discovered that I am very much so with myself. How desperately I HATE to give up on something half way through. But I couldn't make it up that effing hill. I had to walk the bike up and it hurt like hell, and now, four days later, it stings just as hard... stupid freaking hill... but don't worry, I made up for it.

Next day, back to Arnhem to spend the day in BEAUTIFUL Sonsbeek park as I watch the children laugh and skip and frolic in the waterfall and on the grass and by the pond. I sat for a few hours, and I cycled around the whole park which really is beautiful, and really makes it clear that no one does a park like the Europeans.
And then the next day we rose, we ate, we jumped on our cycles and we rode 20 kilometres to and through Hoge Veluwe National Park, to Kroller Muller museum which is in the middle of the park, we looked at the art, and I was moved by how beautiful their collection was, we ate fruit and home-made apple pie after ordering massive soup-bowl coffees, and we rode back home 20 kilometers. That's right. I rode 40 kilometers. I think I'm allowed to be impressed with myself.
That evening Mechtild and Nuky helped me tick yet ANOTHER pivotal Dutch experience off my to-do list as we went to a Pannenkoeken House and I had a DELISH pancake with cheese, mushrooms and onion, and topped it with stroop (syrup). That's right, they put syrup on their savoury pancakes, and boy do they know what they're doing there! LEKKER!

Now, my family exploration up to this point had been a little one-sided! I have an entire Opa who had still gone completely unrepresented in this journey, and not a single van Kessel had been encountered. This was about to change! Opa's sister Elly made a date with me, despite trouble with her eyes that meant she saw everything double, and she told me time and station to meet her- "What do you look like? I'm small, and I have white hair, so you should see me".

Now came a drama that could only be such a drama in this family... I got on the train which was to be a direct train to Schagen, where I would get off and meet Elly. I sat on the train as it hurtled through Holland for an hour and 45 minutes. I made epic breakthroughs on the cryptic crossword I was doing, and I waited for the 2 hour train ride to be over and done with. The train stopped. The speaker uttered Dutch words which blew past my ears like icing sugar in a tornado. Some people got out of the train. I waited for the train to leave. The light in the train turned off. I thought maybe I should see what's happening, got out, asked the train man... and I had to be in the carriages in front... I sprinted, I ran like a mad-man, I reached out for the train... but it was too late, off he sped into the distance, and instead of me, he carried all my chances of arriving when I had agreed to and drove off to throw them in Elly's poor, waiting face. And ofcourse I didn't have her mobile number, and ofcourse when I texted Nuky to tell at least someone they were on a train too, and ofcourse they rang Opa and Oma back in Australia to get the number, and ofcourse they panicked and worried and desperately searched, and ofcourse when I rang this number, it was Elly's home number which was little help for contacting someone waiting on an empty train platform... so I waited for the next train, and I got out in Schagen, and I walked past a small lady with white hair, and I wondered... and I went back, and I asked, and with a mighty hug and a kiss she apologised for not knowing me- and I had arrived with yet another branch from my tree. Her daughter Eveline, her partner Ruud and their two lovely children were also visiting for the day, which was such a special surprise, as people who had seemed so illusive were suddenly right here where I could touch and hear and see them. It was yet the same here again. Instantly I was at home, instantly I felt a part of their world, instantly I felt like I slotted in somewhere and didn't jutt out the side like a goiter.
As Eveline talked to me I saw our shared history, the links and ties and intricate little connecting lines laid out before my eyes like a tapestry. It was so lovely. In Elly I saw my Opa so pungently. It was as though they had both been sewn from exactly the same cloth in only slightly different patterns, and in both cases they made a blanket which wrapped around me perfectlym and makes me so so warm! We had lunch together, and then I went with them to the beach. I family outing to the beach, with my new family! And it felt so normal. It was like I was over every weekend, and was just another part of the scenery, and even though that might sound... not particularly nice... I cannot think of anything more perfect in such a situation, anything more wonderful and joyous. Elly spoke to me like she'd known me all my life, and she made me feel no different. It meant so much to me to be able to know people from this other half of this side of my coin. Eveline's children were remarkable, continuously starting conversations with me despite the fact I could not understand them, nor they me. They played with me and chatted with me and a rather dominating thought that day was "oh my god... I want my own children SOOOOOOOOOOOO bad". Sigh...
We had dinner together, and then I was driven all the way back to Hilversum in the pouring rain. I had to say goodbye to Elly already, but just like at the party, it didn't feel like a goodbye, it felt like a 'see you later' and I guess somethings just run deeper than seeing eachother regularly...

So, after I ate myself some bread in Hilversum, and Malou had dried her hair, and Astrid had sent an email... they took me on one last moonlight-tour of their little area. We drove through the streets with the moonlight trying its best to creep through the clouds after a pretty epic storm, and we looked at the beautiful, stately homes of the Dutch rich, with wooded gardens and thatched roofs and very VERY high fences. It was a beautiful area. We went to a ice-cream parlour which is apparantly the most famous in Holland and had some killer 'ijs'... mmmmmhmmmmm... mooi lekker. We went to the rich part of town, and sat on a terrace and drank dry white wine together. I felt high-class. It was lovely.

This morning we went to the airport, Astrid, Myrthe, Malou and I. Marc was landing in Amsterdam from London, dropping off some of his living supplies in London before flying to Qatar to find where he will live for the next two years as he works there. Myrthe was catching the train to do a university exam, before she went to her friends house and flies with him to London tomorrow. Malou got back from France the day before yesterday, and she and Astrid would drive me and my luggage back to Doorwerth after we finished at the airport... hooooweee! So, Marc had a little bit of time between flying in and flying out, so we all met for coffee and breakfast, and this was the last time I would spend with this family all together. This family who opened their home and their hearts to me without the blink of an eye, who provided for me, looked after me, took care of me like I was one of them and had been forever. They showed me nothing but unwavering love and kindness and support. Without them, my stay in Holland would have been a drastically different one! I was so lucky to meet them all, I learned so much from each of them, my life is more whole having known them and shared this small part of my life with them. They're all such strong, resilient, independent, insightful, wise, intelligent people, all four of them. They live their lives with so much passion and comittment and with such open, honest hearts. These are people who really know how to get the most out of everything, to squeeze every last drop of goodness out of something, and how to add the sugar where it needs to be made sweet... Really, my time in their home and in their lives has made me such a better person, I've been inspired and moved and educated in ways I didn't expect, and ways that have changed my life.
Astrid is so strong- a pillar of strength and fortitude. She is so wise, and her heart is just a pulsing centre of love, kindess and warmth. Marc is so generous and caring, so quick and sure to look after everyone and lend a helping hand. Myrthe is so intelligent and so unassuming in her insight and her knowledge of the world and of people. Malou is so vibrant and energetic and alive, she has so much joy and is so honest and genuine and real. Every moment I spent in that house was so refreshing, to see real people being themselves at every single moment. There is no bullshit in that house. There is never any call for anyone to pretend. Everyone is accepted, everyone is loved, no one is asked to change or to fill specific criteria. They have built a home where people are free to be people, and not expected to act in any way other than that which comes naturally to them. That's so beautiful.
I was so lucky to be there with them, so lucky to meet them, and I am so lucky to be able to call them my family. It hurt to say goodbye. How I hate goodbyes.

I was driven back to Doorwerth, and here I sit now, with no more 'news' to share.