When I left for my ‘road trip’ I didn’t realise I was making a pilgrimage. This occurred later in the journey as I got on and off trains and buses arriving somewhere both new and yet familiar from my years of living in Sydney, Melbourne and regional Victoria.
Setting off in early July I arrived in Melbourne on a very cold evening. I slipped into my Melbourne skin and ventured onto Sydney Road for Japanese ramen with warm sake. Sitting almost on the street I immersed myself in the passing parade of coat-wrapped bodies and snippets of conversation. I had arrived in Melbourne! A grand thing.
Following my workshop at Green Monday Studios and several delightful meals with friends and family I set off to stay with friends in regional Victoria. Brilliant freezing days and nights filled with conversation, shared tears and laughter alongside familiar places imprinted in memory after my years of living in the area. Back to Melbourne to share a beloved niece’s birthday at Cam’s then walking along Merri Creek which was lapping the edges of the path. A memorable movie on Charmian Clift – genius writer, woman and artist. What a life – well lived and tragically ended. But ‘did you know’ said Alice to her friend ‘She is the grandmother of Gina Chick the woman extraordinaire who thrived in the “Alone” series with such joy and brilliant knowledge.’ What a lineage! Yesterday I bought my first Charmian Clift to get to know this writer who was a rule breaker, a wild woman of searing intelligence, and a passionate human.
Venturing back into regional Victoria to visit friends. Evenings by the fire with excellent wine, a fire and good company. All that I had imagined. Waking to the slow seepage of morning light permeating the darkness, frost over the ground and hot tea in hand. Long walks through familiar yet always unknown bush. Stories exchanged with our footfalls. Good food and coffee in the bonhomie of local cafés. I drink in beloved friend’s faces and stories. We accompany each other in a creative exchange of living and aging.
Then a flight to Hobart to stay with friends recently relocated from Darwin. A leap from north to south across this huge continent. They live perched on a high hill just under the mountain. They take me for an extraordinary meal at a local restaurant – the food is incredibly original and beautifully presented. Food is a priority in Hobart! I spend a day at MONA – moaning in ecstasy at the surroundings, current exhibition and fabulous lunch. The ferry ride there and back is a further treat. I have waited years to come, and it doesn’t disappoint. At the end of the day a pianist gathers a small ensemble to play the composition he has created that day. He has been doing this for several months. A great gig! On my last morning, we walk directly into the bush behind the house to see snow on Kunanyi/Mt Wellington. I am told this is unusual.
Back to Melbourne for a brief stopover at my niece’s new home and the following freezing morning a train to Bairnsdale, a brief pause then onto a bus that makes the curve around the south-east bend of this continent. I alight at Quaama a place I had never heard of in the Bega Valley. Once more I am welcomed by dogs clambering for attention, a fire and a glass of wine. I like this. I am the old woman who now has time to listen, observe and respond to the many stories that surround each home and family. Everyone is so generous and kind and this touches me deeply. I am resting in my eldership. Stories of great suffering here as the fires swept through and no one was left unscathed. People lost everything or much that was critical to living and making a living. This couple have been at the coalface of the recovery and are deep in the ecological crisis we are all in. We have spirited conversations full of knowledge and rigour.
The last part of my journey awaits, and I feel the fullness of my journey. This I realise has been a pilgrimage. My last bus journey takes me north to meet a dear friend and colleague. We made terra together, the most important work of my life. She sweeps me up in Milton and immediately I am aware of a different kind of comfort that money brings. Sydney lurks close. We buy good food and venture to her beautifully crafted home close to the beach in Bendalong. More conversations around the fire with wine and food. I sleep deeply and wake to dawn and the sun rising over the Pacific Ocean. Nothing reminds me more than this, that I live on the opposite side of the country with the stunning Indian Ocean sunsets. Home begins to pull. My body is full of story, friendship and connection to place.
One last journey by car through the town of Berri, once a small place of charm now a bustling town with too many tourist distractions. We arrive in Sydney in the late afternoon. My last days are filled with the pleasure of the familiar. A visit to the Gallery of NSW, walks around Bondi, a vintage shopping spree and a fine evening of performance in Marrickville with the marvellous Chris Abrahams (pianist with The Necks) and others. I’m done and ready to fly home.
But not quite. Another treat is in store for me. A full flight and not a big plane. I am sitting by the window with two men next to me. At some point I must use the toilet. When I get out and turn there is a cue the length of the plane in front of me. I turn around and there is no one waiting the business end (of course!). I consider and am prompted by a young woman who comments on this cue. I say, ‘watch me’ and walk assuredly to the business end of the plane. I speak to the flight attendant and point out the long cue and ask if I can use the business lounge toilet. She cannot refuse me and doesn’t. When I walk back the two men next to me say congratulations. I say it helps to be a white-haired woman sometimes. The man next to me startles me with ‘I bet you have done harder things?’. ‘Oh yes’, I respond. I sit down and his words land in me and precipitate a conversation. His accent reminds me of London. He tells me he is from Kenya. The rest is history as they say. He is a theatre maker and writer on his way home. I ask if he knows a fellow performer. He is delighted by this connection, and we begin a conversation that is still going. We met yesterday to continue our inter-generational stories. Mararo and I have many stories and lives to share.