Have you heard of the Capture the Colour competition? You post your travel pics in blue, green, yellow white and red, to potentially win prizes. I love the theme of this competition, and the concept of storytelling that is to go along with the photos. So while my photographs are nothing special visually, I thought that just for fun, I'd use this idea to take myself (and you) on a little armchair journey through some old memories. Blue
Steel blue water, blue sky and a blue warship, all reflected in the cool blue glass facades of Manhattan skyscrapers... In 2009, two Australian warships HMA Sydney and HMA Ballarat sailed into New York as part of the centenary celebration of the Great White Fleet. I was lucky enough to be one of four Aussie journalists taken out by the US Coastguard to greet the frigates. I will never forget the early morning salt-slap of water against my face as we headed out to the mouth of the Hudson River; nor the surge of patriotic pride that took me completely by surprise as Sydney churned into view, white-clad officers lining her deck, and the strains of a band playing "Down Under" bouncing over the waves. Green
On a trek through the Sacred Valley in Peru, we came across this group of school children playing football. The players and the field appeared seemingly out of nowhere as we emerged from dense forest. What with the green field, the green mountains and the thick forest, it was as though these boys were playing inside a green globe, above, below and around.
Yellow
I snapped this little fellow with his yellow truck, yellow striped mat and almost-yellow hair at the Lee Street fete in Melbourne, Australia, earlier this year. It was a poignant day for me. I was six months pregnant with my first baby, and Mr B and I had recently moved to Melbourne, the fourth state we'd lived in in less than a year and the fifth interstate move for me since I'd left New York only two years earlier. Finally we were settled, creating a home. And since the Lee Street school was where our little one would eventually go, we decided to visit to the fete. I think it was on this day that I really started to get clucky, and the reality of our baby-to-be sank in. White
_The white sails of this yacht, and the white sea-foam created by our own yacht, stood out in wonderful contrast to sea, land and sky during a sunset cruise in Newport, Rhode Island (USA).
I had taken two weeks away from steamy August in New York and stayed in a B&B that was a 300 year-old rum runner's house overlooking Narragansett Bay. In between harbour cruises, I spent a lot of time visiting remote graveyards in the wilderness, researching the bizarre stories of vampires that plagued this corner of America as recently as 100 years ago.
Red
A sea of red terracotta rooftops, curving away into the distance in the Old Town part of Nice, France.
This was taken during our family holidays last year. Everyone else had gone down to the beach, but I wanted some time out so I climbed alone up stone steps cut into a cliff, to a kind of belvedere lookout from what was once, so I read, a Celtic castle ruin. I remember the sensation that you could almost reach out your hand and touch the roof tiles, although they were actually very far away. I didn't know it at the time but I carried my baby with me on this climb, a tiny speck of a promise only a day or two old.
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Despite sharing this need to take little breaks from blogging, I am still guest posting my weekly antipodean dispatches over on English Muse. This week, I'm thinking about The Harp in the South by Ruth Park, and how places, as well as people, can grow up and change, with or without us: "Surry Hills is one of those places that has faced a fundamental shift in personality, more than once. A hundred years ago, it was the most dangerous part of Sydney, full of razor gangs and brothels and sly-grog joints. In Ruth Park’s famous novel The Harp in the South, she conjured up the Surry Hills of the 1940s, then a slum, and the downtrodden yet vibrant families that populated its old streets." I also found some lovely and sometimes poignant photographs of Sydney life in the 1930s and 40s from the NSW Library archives (like this one, of a Salvation Army service in Surry Hills). The post is here if you'd like to take a look. I welcome your comments!Want to receive regular "messages in bottles" from me? Subscribe using one of the links in the right hand column, or follow my blog with Bloglovin
 Out to dinner in the West Village with my good friends. L-R: adopted sis Misha, Jill, and Micah Often I get asked by people visiting New York where I recommend they eat, and what I recommend they do. I've written so many emails about this that I thought I'd share my top tips with you here.
I lived downtown on Manhattan (in SoHo), so most of my tips are around that area: SoHo, NoHo, Nolita, Greenwich Village and East Village. These are all places I used to go with my friends. Some are a bit fancy but most of them are cheep and cheerful local haunts, as opposed to tourist traps.
A disclaimer:
One thing about New York is that there are SO MANY wonderful places to eat, and the city is constantly changing. So bear in mind that I lived there two years ago, so what I'm giving you now may not be the same... and I'm positive there will be hundreds of other great places that have sprung up since. That said, these were my favourite eateries in my neighbourhood.
Dinner with friends
| Cheap eats
| Delicious desserts
Bubby's (Tribeca) Oh my goodness the pies! Rice to Riches Old fashioned rice pudding in a gazillion flavours (almost) | Speakeasies
PDTFronts as a hot dog joint (great hot dogs and cheap btw). Go into the phone booth and pick up the phone to ask to be let into the bar. Book ahead to avoid a wait. La EsquinaGo through the diner, down stairs, past the kitchen and into the bar. Get there early to avoid a wait. (The take-away taco stand outside is cheap and delicious too). Back RoomOutside it looks like a closed toy store. Go through the alleyway to get to the unmarked door. Drinks served in teacups, a revolving bookcase to the VIP room. This is an actual historic speakeasy. | Keep exploring
If you just want to wander to find somewhere to eat, Elizabeth Street (Nolita) has some great restaurants; Mulberry Street (heading south from Prince) is ‘Little Italy” (until it becomes Chinatown); and Bleeker Street heading West has some wonderful little places as well as nearby laneways and nooks and crannies with cafes and restaurants to explore.
Also, get over to Brooklyn if you can find someone to give you tips on the good places to eat and drink. There are some fantastic villages in Brooklyn, and super cool bars and restaurants, but I just can’t remember the names of any so you'll need to find a local to advise you.
Your turn
How about you? Have you lived in New York or visited the city? What are your favourite eateries? Add them in the comments so everyone can benefit.
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There aren't many photographs, which is why I didn't post about it earlier, when I shared stories from Paris, Nice, Carcassonne, Venice and Rome. Sometimes when I travel, I take a million photographs. Can't put the camera away, annoy everyone travelling with me to breaking point. But for some reason, I never seem to remember to take out the camera when I'm in London. It's possible this happens because to me, London represents something that can't really be captured by camera (at least, not with my limited skill). That is, friendship and love. I have three dearly loved friends in London: Hayden and Nina, and their little boy Jack. A visit to London for me is about drawing closer to them; brief moments of reconnecting, feeling at once the distance of years and oceans, and yet no distance at all. Do you have friendships like this? These three are in my heart, and they are what I think of when I think of London. Its music, its history, its parties, its food, its architecture, its red buses and its rain... these are all relegated to a lesser place in my mind behind Hayden, Nina and Jack. They have a little summer tradition, and sometimes I join in. If the weather is warm, we pack a picnic and wine and rent the green-and-white striped chairs in St James's Park, and spend a sunny afternoon together. We did this the first time I ever visited London. I was recently alone, fragile of heart, and this simple picnic was a joyous, comforting time. Fast forward four years, and I am introducing my friends to my new husband, my mother-in-law, my youngest stepdaughter and her cousin! We converge in London; I've only arrived from Paris, but they've flown all the way from Australia and they are exhausted. Hayden and Nina take our bags, since we can't check in to our apartment yet. They tell us, "Meet us at the park in two hours." I know where to go. We rent the green-and-white striped chairs. We open the wine, the packets of olives, the good bread. We tilt our faces toward the sun. We are together again, my dear friends and my dear family.Emily and Maggie play chasings with Jack, who is now in school. He was a bub in a striped onesy the first time I saw him, in a photograph held out to me by proud dad Hayden as we worked together in the Australian outback. My own camera sits forgotten in my handbag.
Somewhere on Route 66
It was more than 100 degrees outside the car. As I rolled the window down to place our order at Burger King, I swear my eyelashes singed. The sun-faded speaker box asked what I would like for lunch today.
Me: One fish burger, and...
Speaker box: Chicken nuggets, yes. Y’all want somethin’ else?
Me: No, a fish burger.
Speaker box: Ah beg pardon, two chicken nuggets. Got it.
Me: No chicken nuggets! None at all!
Speaker box: Take a deep breath, honey. We’ll get there. Speak slowly.
Me: F-I-S-H burger. Fish, like, um, fish swimming in the water.
Speaker box: Got it. One water. Anything else?
It's our last weekend in Adelaide. Everything is packed, and we've spent the past couple of nights eating takeout and playing Uno because there is nothing else to do. So, today, we took ourselves on a little exploratory trip to some country towns we're not likely to pass again any time soon.
I forgot to bring the camera, but trusty Instagram kept me clicking.
You cross the drawbridge and enter the ramparts searching for ghosts. There should be many; Carcassonne has a sad and brutal history that spans 3000 years. But if they are in the cité today, the ghosts are silent.
You are in southern France, not far from Toulouse. There have been Celts living here, then Romans, who built the northern rampart of the cité you are exploring today. Under the basement of the medieval Count's Castle, Roman mosaics and sculptures still glow from the walls.
But century upon century of bombardments, murders and changes-of-hand followed for Carcassonne, from the Visigoths to the Saracens.
At the dawn of the 13th century, Carcassonne enjoyed a brief period of peace and religious tolerance. Catholics and Cathars shared neighbourhoods and even homes, and the Jewish community was not far away. But in 1209 the city fell to a wave of Crusaders, and then the horror truly began.
The Cathars believed in living lives of humility and poverty. They saw God as the creator of eternity and spirituality, while material life and even time itself were creations of evil. By most accounts, they were a peaceful people. By contrast, the religious wars declared upon them were brutal.
Carcassonne as you wander through it today belies its history. Filled with sunshine and shops and cobblestones and tourists and pointed blue turrets, it appears more Disney than Dracula.
Yet throughout its 3000 year history, this picture-perfect cité seems to have suffered under a violent curse. Turbulence continued throughout the ages. Even as recently as 1944 when Carcassonne was delivered by the Allies, many people were killed around the train station.
It is such a beautiful place, overlooking a medieval town and a wilderness beyond. You whisper a prayer that this windswept, hilltop castle and the ghosts that haunt its stone walls may now enter peace at last.
We got home from Melbourne last weekend to discover the jacaranda trees were in bloom up and down our street. Aren't they just summertime special?
It was one of those gentle, magical days. A gift. We were in Nice, France.
We wandered through the Old Town until I found the perfect striped straw bag I had been searching for, then took it with us to the open-air markets. There we bought olives, strawberries and enormous green grapes, warm from the sun, and ate them as we walked. Down at the beach, sinking through pebbles, the girls dipped their toes in the Mediterranean Sea.
The day grew hot. I left the family swimming, and escaped for one of those perfect, lonely explorations that are best to be had in an old, foreign town. If a narrow laneway appeared, I took it. If steps curved around the corner, I climbed them. I passed shrines to the Mother Mary, washing strung from building to building, and stepped in and out of shops - refreshingly cool like caves - of olives and lollies and crisp, white linen.
Way up high in the distance I could see a waterfall, and the cool sparkle of its water was like a beacon. I asked a man, "How do I get to the waterfall?" and he answered, "You mean the castle," and pointed the way. The climb was long, and my throat dried with the heat. At the top, the pathway branched back into trees. Between them I could just see glimpses: now the ocean glinting far below me, now circles of terra cotta rooftops, casting patterns in the view.
The waterfall cascaded over barely-visible stonework, almost all that was left of the ancient castle. I sat on the edge of the pool where the water plunged, grateful for the soft mist that blew into and over my face.
Back down at the beach, I found my family splashing in the shallows in front of a row of blue and white striped chairs and umbrellas. Lazily, we drained one iced tea after the other, then wandered home as the sun set.
But it was more than the tea that refreshed me. Sometimes, even in the company of those you love the most, a breath of solitude can revive a weary spirit. I came out of those few hours of exploring Nice alone like the girls came out of the sea. Each of us was new.
(How about you? Do you ever need to take 'time out' during a holiday?)
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