asentencefragment has moved...

Hey guys,

I've moved my blog over to here:  http://asentencefragment.net/

This one will be removed once I get the chance to bring it all down.

Cheers,
D

The Zucchini has sprouted!

It is quite remarkable that it was a pot a of dirt all this week and then yesterday morning I spotted a hint of sprout (middle image) and by the time I was home they were above the surface (last image).

Productive gardening

Repotted basil plant.

Soon to be zucchini.

When I think about what I would like in a dream house, a vegetable and herb garden are always featured. I like productive gardens, but until now I had never had a place to really grow one. My inner city apartment in Spring Hill had a small front garden, but it wasn't really suitable for a vegie patch - plus it was communal. I had at one point or another considered putting pots on my back stairs, but it was street facing and I always worried about what would happen to any property I left out there.

Soon to be tomatoes.

When I lived in Perth I dabbled a little on the gardening front, I had a tomato plant for a while, mostly due to me putting the scraps from my kitchen in the garden of the small courtyard style garden I had and tomatoes seem to bloom so easily. But I didn't have the know-how and tools to keep insects from eating it. I also planted some carrots briefly, but the Perth desert soil is so sandy that sometimes it's difficult to get things to grow in it. In the end I resorted to natives and left it at that.


We don't exactly have the best garden where we are now, the owner has fashioned some sort of pond lagoon and rock formation out of the small back garden and put a spa in the corner (which is covered and we're not allowed to use). The front garden would be the most ideal place to start a vegie patch and we're fenced from the street, but that would require erecting some kind of garden bed onto the grass and I somehow think that would be frowned upon. 

Chilli plant - was a little wilted
yesterday from being in the car
but he's bounced back this morning.

So yesterday I decided that if I really wanted a small vegie/herb patch it would have to be pots on the deck. I headed off to Bunnings and got everything required to get started.


I repotted a little basil plant that had been sitting in my kitchen but couldn't last too much longer in it's little pot and then added a few others to the collection.

Foodie weekend

It was over dinner with Gloria at Peasant on Friday night that I realised how much I missed having her in my life. Gloria was only seconded in Brisbane for eight months in 2007, but we formed a solid friendship in that short time and, as she said, it has never changed; even when we haven’t spoken for a while.

Gloria’s family is Greek so she we’ve had similar upbringings and bond over understanding what it’s like to grow up in a Mediterranean family where food is a big part of your life. I have very few friends who have the food knowledge and enthusiasm that Gloria does. And any friend who is only too happy to order an espresso at 10.30pm and still not have it affect her sleep is good in my books.

Most of Saturday was spent at the James Street Cooking School, cashing in a gift voucher that friends of mine had given me for my 30^th birthday. One of the most enjoyable experience I’ve had in a long time, the hands-on class was a fun, relaxed atmosphere with all 15 of us there to learn some new skills.

The menu given to us on the day was:

·         pesto crusted swordfish with ratatouille and cannellini beans

·         nicoise salad with herb and lemon marinated chicken

·         poached pears in kataifi pastry with almond and mascarpone.

It started off with us sitting against one wall, each given the recipe of the dishes we would be cooking, and watching the chef demonstrate how to pick fresh seafood in the store. They also went through the usual OH&S, basic knife skills and a quick rundown of some of the more difficult components of our dishes.

Pesto crusted swordfish
with ratatouille

After that we shuffled off into three groups of five to begin, we decided to divvy up the workload and have everyone creating different dishes, helping each other when there was waiting time or if we had questions, while the two chefs shuttled back and forth giving us tips, answering our questions and generally keeping the atmosphere fun.

As someone who does not eat seafood and has never been a fan, I was interested to see how I’d go at cooking swordfish — a protein I knew very little about — and even more curious about whether I was going to like it. Turns out, I love it.

Once all our dishes were complete and neatly presented on service dishes, we put our pears in the oven and seated ourselves at the large dining table and enjoy the fruits of our labour. The swordfish didn’t taste fishy at all and practically melted in my mouth. I was converted. If I can find other fish that give equal enjoyment I’ll be ordering seafood more often.

Though, I still think the pears were my favourite. I absolutely adore poached pear, add some mascarpone to that and wrap it in some kataifi pastry and I was sold.

Nicoise salad with herb and
lemon marinated chicken

Inspired to do some more cooking (something that had waivered this week with only me at home), I went to pick up Gloria to come stay at our place for the rest of the weekend. After a quick tour of the Church, we collapsed in the lounge with cook books and discussed recipes for the rest of the afternoon. Eventually, my better half came home and put up with our further chatter about food through afternoon coffee; through evening wine; then later, through our vegetarian wood fired pizza and bottle of wine.

We gave him some respite the next day by going off to the movies (before which we had muffins, bagels and cream cheese which is, let’s face it, more cream than cheese).

Sadly, before I knew it the movie was over and I had to drive my friend out to the airport and say a sad farewell.  -sniff-

Poached pear in kataifi pastry
with almond and mascarpone

When I got home, I found the boy and his friend drinking beer out on the deck and, just in case I didn’t feel like I’d had enough food all weekend, we went to the pub for a Sunday session and big pub meal. This of course, called for a siesta at 4pm with me topping off the weekend by watching the semi-final of My Kitchen Rules with a chocolate Easter egg.

Possibly the most exciting part of the weekend was me jumping on the scales, against my better judgement, ready to face the music only to discover I’d lost 400 grams after my foodie weekend. Best diet ever.

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

I first became aware of this novel in 2000 when, instead of doing my assignment on Jane Austen, I was listening to a CD interview and story reading with Stephen King. In which he was asked who some of his influences were in the author world, and he announced that he was very much a fan in of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend.

When he described the novel it sounded very much like something I would enjoy and I made a mental note to read it one day, perhaps after I graduated uni and could read again for pleasure, rather than pushing forward with my English, Creative Writing and Journalism degree.

Fast forward to 2007, I remember being in the cinema and seeing a preview for the latest movie adaptation of I Am Legend and before the title showed up I had thought to myself 'this story line seems oddly familiar' and went back later to check that the novel I had remembered wanting to read was of the same title. It was.

Anyway, I've always put off seeing the movie, mostly because I'm not a Will Smith fan, and also because I wanted to read the story without bias. Now that I have I'm curious to see how the movie portrays the book. Poorly, it seems from the reviews, but I still plan to make up my own mind.

It's only taken me twelve years to get my hands on the book, but I've finally read it (lesson here, kids, always keep a 'to read' list - very handy). I really loved this story, it's a novella rather than a novel, though Matheson's book does contain other horror stories, much shorter but with the same isolated subtext as I Am Legend.

The story is interesting as our protagonist, Robert Neville, isn't a hero, but is merely surviving and his existence almost seems useless and without purpose. We also learn very little about Neville before the plague, but are thrown nuggets of information through his memories which still leave me unsatisfied. But I guess the essence of true horror is not the story of the all-American overcoming all odds, but being forced to accept what has become and learning to deal with it.

Definitely worth giving this story 5 pints of blood.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

Way back in 2004, which seems a lifetime ago now, I was working in London and had started a new contract with a very large financial investment firm who were transitioning to outsource their customer service to India. They brought in 12 contractors (me included) to learn the system, test it for problems and ultimately train the new customer service officers flying in from India.

I made very good friends with one of the other contractors and we remained friends long after the job came to an end. Anyway, I remember her raving about this book and insisting that I read it. I never did get around to it until a week and a half ago when it was pegged as our next member of book club choice in our second book to read.

The Kite Runner is Khaled Hosseini's first novel, which he wrote while working a doctor, no less. An incredibly moving and electric novel that kept me up at nights and had me nearly missing bus stops because I was so engrossed in the story.

It's the tale of two young Afghan's who grew up in the pre-Soviet Union invasion, only to part ways once Afghanistan turns into a war zone. Unlike a lot of other novels that arc over the large life span of a character's life, The Kite Runner moves along at good pace never leaving you bored.

I was entranced the entire journey and this was the first novel that actual made me shed a tear in a long time.

Khaled Hosseini has started a foundation that supports and builds shelter in Afghanistan for returning refugees. It also provides education and healthcare for women and children in a country where women have lost their rights as a result of Taliban dictatorship. Read more about The Khaled Hosseini Foundation.

Such an incredible writer and engaging book, I'm keen to read his second novel A Thousand Splendid Suns.

If you haven't read The Kite Runner, I put it on my most highly recommended books for 2012.

Hell's Angels by Hunter S Thompson

I'm a bit of a Hunter Thompson fan, so thought it was get across this one. An interesting insight into the lives and culture of the Hell's Angels circa 1960-70s.

Possibly the only journalist crazy enough to live, ride and write about the Hell's Angels on their own terms, and coping his fair share of brawls in the mean time, Thompson writes his accounts of his time with America's, once most feared, outlaws.

Written from a journalists perspective, Hunter goes into detail about the contrasts between what was written in the media and political reports compared to the facts of the fraternity at the time.

Hunter certainly doesn't paint the Angels as anything more than they are, but presents the facts based on what he knew first hand.

Very interesting read.

(I'm now up-to-date on my books from this year - until I finish the five chapters I have left on my current book that is.)

Book Club - Month 1: A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan

So when Sara and Nick, who had moved to Sydney a year ago, announced they were moving back to Brisbane, I jumped on the chance to resurrect book club. Previously, it had just been the four of us: me, Sara, Tiff and Rachel - this time Rachel didn't want any part of it, so we started looking around for fresh blood.

We arranged a first 'meet up' at a bar for drinks after work to meet everyone and decide on how we were going to run book club. Everything looked rather promising with the three of us, Claire (a friend of Sara's who drifts in and out of our lives but mostly makes a living out of working overseas as a camp counsellor and sled dog trainer - although currently she's working as a teacher's aid on Thursday Island), Michelle (an old work friend of Sara's) and another possible friend who ended up choosing not to come.

Every time someone wants to bring a new woman into the book club it's always prefaced with, 'She's childless... by choice!' which is always a bonus for us, since we're all childless by choice also and want to be around more people in the same boat.

Anyway, everyone decided we should kick off with my book, A Visit from the Goon Squad. I got wind of this book via The First Tuesday Book Club on the ABC, which is one of my television guilty pleasures. I chose this one because it was one of the few books I've seen all panel members say they loved. Here's snapshot of the segment.

While I did enjoy this book, it puzzled me why it was a Pulitzer Price winner. The first half was a bit of a struggle, because each chapter is about a different character at different moments in time, and everyone agreed that we all kept trying to make the connections. By half way you stop trying to make those connections and just enjoy the story.

I galloped through the second half, especially loving the chapter where the daughter of one of the main characters keeps a 'slide journal'. It was engaging and different and equally as powerful in it's story telling as prose would have been. In fact, more so because the visual representations of the PowerPoint's aided her story.

This was the type of book that once I finished the last chapter I immediately wanted to read it over from the start. All book club members said exactly the same thing. Very few books ever have that affect.

Highly recommended read.

Chasing Bohemia by Carmen Michael

I saw this author some years ago at the Brisbane Writers Festival and found her fascinating to listen to. It was probably the first writers festival I went to shortly after I moved here. I remember it being an exciting one because there were a lot of travel focused topics and travel writing guests on panels and I was about to take off to South America.

Unfortunately, this book had sat on my shelf for a number of years since that festival, unopened. A few times I cracked the cover and tried to make a go of it, but I always ended up discarding it for another book I was more into at the time. You know what they say about a good opening.

But after my last book, We Need to Talk About Kevin, I needed something light, something frothy, something... Brazilian. We are in the height of summer after all, and with the salsa music in my ears, the tropical smoothie excursions I was taking at lunch times to Boost Juice and this book buzzing in my head, I slipped into extreme travel withdrawals.

While, not my favourite of the many travel literature I indulge in when I feel the need to do some armchair travelling, it certainly gave me an insight into the Brazilian culture and the fun of carnival. And again prompted that side of me who loves to up and leave her house, her job, her friends and life in general for that of one that fits into a backpack. I tried to focus on my new resolve to live on a much smaller percentage of my wage in order to get to my goal of taking a year off. Let me rephrase that (since I have taken years - more than that even - off before)... take a year off and not be broke and/or counting every penny. A planned year off with the funds to sustain me without concern.

I didn't power through Michael's book the way I have other travel literature, but I understood her viewpoint better than most because she was similiar in age to me at the time of writing this book and had also given up corporate jobs to basically become a bum in Rio de Janeiro. Okay, the people I admire probably says a lot about me, but even though I like my job I can't help but peer out the cubical grey window and think, 'Why am I even bothering with this when there's a whole big world out there I have yet to explore?'

We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver

I was a little behind in reading this infamous novel, but I felt I needed to be in the right frame of mind to tackle it. Turns out, there is no right frame of mind to read such a book. It's disturbing from the start and nearly every woman I've spoken to who has read it all same the same thing, 'It makes you think twice about having children'. I'm not sure if I totally agree with that statement, I think if you are having children for the right reasons, i.e. you want them, unlike our main character in this book, then this books shouldn't alter your decision.

Having said that, this book does bring up the question of nature vs nurture and leaves you with a lot of unanswered questions. There were times in this book where I just wanted to close the chapter and take a break, it was emotionally taxing and hats off to Shriver for coming up with such a unique and incredibly written book. Horrifying to read, yet addictive. I didn't want to know more, yet I couldn't help myself from continuing to turn the page and watching the horror unfold.

I think what is disturbing was how much I related to the mother in this book, though I like to think I wouldn't choose to have a child based on 'wanting to try something new'. Child birth doesn't strike me as an experience I desperately want to try 'just to see'. You don't have to fling yourself off a bridge to know it's going to hurt.

Having only just reconvened with book club I wish this had been on the list of books to discuss. I found myself at BBQs raising the subject with people who had read the book because I was desperate to hear what they thought of it all. Especially since Rich told me he didn't want to hear anything about this book and at 468 pages, it was in my life for a little while, with me busting to tell him all about it.

I saw the preview for the movie, but am less inclined to watch it since the characters don't look or act anything like I imaged. I'm also not sure I want some of those scenes realised in visual form, my imagination is frightening enough.

The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul by Deborah Rodriguez

When Richard saw me reading this, the first words out of his mouth were, 'Another coffee book?' While less informative on the actual coffee process, a much more enjoyable read than the previous coffee book.

Author Deborah Rodriguez, spent five years teaching at the Kabul Beauty School, the first modern beauty and training salon in Afghanistan, so brings a wealth of local knowledge to her writing. The characters and descriptions of the lifestyle of Kabul in this book are so rich and full of colour and gives us an inside into the life of the women behind the modern burqa. And also the lives of foreign women in the country and the contrast of freedom that the different women feel.

It's a wonderful story that touches on the politics, but doesn't dwell on it, rather allows it to become the backdrop for the individual lives that meet in Sunny's coffee shop and how five very different personalities can form a strong and united bond.

The Devil's Cup by Stewart Lee Allen

Over the summer I've been doing a lot of reading and not very much writing (not in this blog anyway — my day job still keeps me busy), so I'm now taking the time to sit down and update on the pages my nose has been stuck in.

'The Devil's Cup' is Stewart Lee Allen's journey into the history of coffee, from it's beginnings in Ethiopia, through the Middle East and eventually filtering through Europe and the rest of the western world. I was sold on this author's integrity when he travelled two hours from Harrar to Jiga-Jiga for a cup of coffee, even after warnings from locals not to go for fear for his life. Sounded extreme... and like something I would do.

Admittedly, this wasn't quite the page turner I was anticipating — I did struggle through many of the chapters which leant to boredom of Allen's own personal journey on his travels to find out about coffee, however the history was interesting.

I think my favourite story was when he tells a story he heard about when the Ottoman's ruled, '...a woman could get a divorce from her husband if he failed to provide her with enough coffee beans for her needs.'

This, of course, was the part I choose to read out to the man in my life — I don't think he bought it though.

An inspirational woman

Most of the time as a writer you're writing articles, content and reports about subjects you don't always care about — occasionally though, you get to put your hand up for something really interesting. Earlier in the year, working on a project with Disability Services, I was writing the arts and culture section for people with disability. Because our project was, from the ground up, largely in consultation and involvement with the disability sector and those living with disability, I managed to meet a woman who was working at National Disability Services (NDS).

Michelle was a world-class dancer diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) at the height of her career. The website we were developing was designed to be a government disability page without the government spiel. We didn't want to begin pages by telling people how many millions of dollars the state government had invested in the program or about how 'wonderful' this program, or that initiative was. The purpose of the website was to get people living with disability where they needed to go, whether that be funding, respite, support or medical aid. The tone and language was plain English, friendly, encouraging and aimed to provide useful information to people to enable them to make their own decisions and live as independently as possible.

A great feature of the site was having real life stories about every day people and their situation, not to 'inspire' people, but to bring disability out from the dark and get people talking.

I jumped at the chance to interview Michelle and we spent an entire afternoon sitting in the NDS breakout room drinking coffee and talking. She's had an amazing life, such an accomplished dancer. But Michelle has had a lot of difficulties as well, not just dealing with her MS, but her personal life as well. But these are off the record, deeply personal details that she's shared with me and I'm not at liberty to share in an open forum.

The great thing about Michelle's story is that, while she uses the aid of a cane, and has her good and bad days, she hasn't let her disability get in the way of what she loves. Some time ago Michelle made a short film, Nerve Ending — a dance she choreographed herself and it was the first time she'd decided to do this since being diagnosed. It's an incredibly powerful film, and perhaps made more so to me because I know her story.

Her life would make an incredible book — maybe if I'm lucky one day, I'll put my hand up for that.

Read my article on Michelle Ryan.

Smiles and nostalgia

You know I moved to Brisbane in August 2006, and into this very apartment five years ago on Riverfire. Not much has changed apartment-wise, I've updated the furniture and moved things around - the rent has gone up $20 in all that time. Back then the cost of this apartment was over my price range, but unless I wanted to house-share (unappealing) or live in something that closely resembled a crack den (even less appealing), I had no choice but to up my price limit. Fortunately, my landlords are the owners and more concerned with good tenants than raking in the income that most landlords have the luxury of these days.

My income has increased over the last five years, but my rent hasn't. It was a great move that has allowed me the convenience of not having to move, while all those around me pay significantly more to live further out. But it was a stable refuge during a time that wasn't stable - the second half of 2006 being a difficult time for me, but with a permanent job (although one I didn't love) and a good place to live I was doing okay. Frankly, Brisbane was a stepping stone to ride out a few family matters I had on the boil before moving somewhere more my style (read: Melbourne).

But things in 2007 started to improve - I made friends slowly, but reluctantly. I didn't much see the point considering I had no ambitions to stay in this town. But good friends can be annoyingly persistent and Shirley wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to being part of my life. Then came Kelly, another work friend and then Gloria, who was on secondment with our team from the Melbourne office.

Work was busy that year, but then most of my friends were work people, so it was a melding of a busy work life that had some level of social activity in it. I also spent a lot of that year flying around the country revisiting with older friends - people I'd met in London and people from uni who I hadn't seen in a long time. I even managed a friendly dinner with an ex-London flatmate in Melbourne - and this was a housing situation where we all walked our separate ways as soon as the keys were handed back and, I was sure, none of us would be friends again.

Probably mid-2007, a friend of Shirley's invited us to join their trivia team at the Regatta and that's when Nick and Scott came on the scene. Probably a couple of weeks after some more Tuesday night trivia games, I was out shopping when I got a random call from Scott inviting me to a BBQ at his and Nick's house (and that Tiff would be there). Basically, that's where it all kicked off.

At the end of September that year, I would meet Sara, Rachel and (my now boyfriend) Richard at Nick's terribly drunk birthday party at the Normanby. An event I actually didn't plan to go to, but it was the year I was reading Yes Man and Tiff basically drove to my house and made a point of knocking on my door and pointing out that the pub was around the corner from me. I was later to learn that Richard also had no intentions of going out that night and was only there as a result of Sara dragging him along (so she could 'spend time with' her now partner Nick).

That was a funny night, Tiff and Scott where sort of secretly together, but not saying anything. Nick and Sara were definitely keen, but not saying anything. And Rich and I were... well, just meeting as friends.

It was the next week that I got a random email from Sara (I assumed she got my email address off of Nick's birthday invite) asking if I'd like to hang out some time? My recollection of Sara at that point was some friend of Nick's I'd spoken to at drinks for maybe an hour at most. My second thought was, 'This girl is cool - why is she approaching me?'. So I agreed to 'hang out' and the rest of us just found ourselves thrown together over 2008 into the primal beginnings of a very close circle of friends.

We all have 'other friends' of course, which we sometimes bring together, but we also always find that the other friends don't stay too long. We've been told we're a hard nut to crack into - which is funny because there's always random people around. I guess the way I like to think of this group is that we'll make our own fun no matter what anyone else, the situation or the weather is doing. This is a group of people who have virtually nothing in common with each other, and yet are all up for whatever is thrown on the table. I like that about them.

This time last year Nick and Sara move to Sydney for Nick's work. Though we travel to see them or they come up to see us, and Rich and I hang out with Tiff and Scott and Rachel when we can, the dynamics have been very different the last year. Not bad different, just different different. Harder to get everyone together. Not as many crazy parties, weekends or activities. But Nick and Sara are moving back at the end of September. :) This is exciting to all of us.

These people are basically the reason I never left when my two year hiatus in Brisbane came to an end. I've moved cities/countries four times in my adult life and this move was by far the hardest because as you get older it's more difficult to forge those types of friendships. When I moved to Perth I was going to uni so you are naturally in an environment (and at an age) where you will make friends. When I moved to London I worked for a company where all the staff were under 30 - so my work was also my social life. That was much harder to do with no connections in Brisbane and working in a company where the average age and gender was 45 and male. But somehow I managed it.

I personally am a little over Brisbane - and have been for some time and feel I know enough people in Melbourne to form a network of friends again. Granted, nothing like the ones I have here... but it's possible. But it's not so easy when you have a partner to think about who is less inclined to uproot his life as easily as I have done many times over.

Today I am staying up too late involved with looking at old photos of ourselves when we hardly knew each other at all.

Oh Mexico! by Lucy Neville

After graduating from university, Lucy Neville decides to take off and live abroad. Oh Mexico!, a funny and adventurous tale of Neville's two years in Mexico City, doesn’t fail to entertain readers while exposing them to the culture, poverty and corruption of Central America.

As Neville writes, ‘…when Mexicans go to live in other countries, it’s because of the necessity of finding a job. In my case it was the necessity of avoiding getting a job.’

The truth of this statement is possibly what makes her first novel such a page-turner. Many of us love the idea of downing sticks and throwing off responsibility to go live in some exotic location - Neville allows us to do this from the safety of our armchairs.

Finding work as an English teacher, Neville becomes surrounded by the local characters who attend her classes even though they all speak perfect English. One of the most entertaining weekly classes is a group of women whose favourite pastime is to complain about their ex-husbands and how they can make their lives difficult.

Through Neville’s words we learn what it would be like to work in a city that is largely corrupt. Her employer is consistently at least two months behind in paying her wages, there are ‘good police’ and ‘bad police’, and drug trafficking and pirated videos make up a large percentage of Mexico’s employment.

Oh Mexico! gives us an insight into the rich history, warm nature and cultural celebrations and beliefs of the Mexican people without becoming overwhelming. Neville has a knack for providing just the right amount of information so that readers have an understanding of the lives of the many characters surrounding her.

Neville’s sense of honesty is refreshing for her age, she doesn’t appear smitten with the idea of moving to another country in search of who she is, her goal is simply to avoid becoming the job-chained adult we’re expected to become once the degree is in our hands. And, as Neville points out, living in a foreign country looks good on your resume, even if you’re not doing anything to further your career.

Like many before her, Neville finds herself in the emotional cycle that comes to foreigners living in a country very different from their own, but she doesn’t dwell on this for pages. Instead, Neville brings humour to the book with anecdotes such as telling the taco men that she ‘…loved Mexican bottoms, and that I was a lesbian (I didn’t like ‘sausage and eggs’). But I would come back tomorrow and try out heterosexual sex.’

No travel memoir would be complete without a love interest, and in this case, Neville finds herself with two, torn between her flamboyant and attractive housemate, and a warm and loving work college. She needs to make a decision soon since her family are about to drop in for a visit and land in the middle of all the chaos.

Oh Mexico! is filled with with, colour and warmth and is a hugely enjoyable read, written with a vibrant and refreshing style. Neville proves the point that avoiding getting a real job can lead to achieving what we might never have otherwise imagined.

Published on Media-Culture Reviews.

Marching Powder by Rusty Young

Travel books are my equivalent of Mills and Boon or 'Chick Lit'. Light hearted, easy to read novels that excite the travel bug in me and allow me to become a traveller from the safety of my couch when I'm in between those fortunate times my backpack gets dusted off for a new adventure.

I read a lot of travel literature, and there are some good ones out there like Emergency Sex and Other Desperate Measures, Absurdistan and Geoff Dyer's Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It.

There are also some not so good ones, like To A Mountain in Tibet (I recently reviewed - see previous entries) and the one that made me want to stab the author in the eye and lament the fact that tree had to die for the 238 pages of drivel he slapped together: Do Travel Writers Go to Hell?

But I don't believe that any travel book has kept me so captivated as Marching Powder by Rusty Young. This one has been on my 'to read' list for many years, but sometimes when you're reviewing books you get bogged down in literature you don't always want to read. So when I finished off the last two books I had to review for the year (taking a break), I couldn't wait to crack the cover of this one.

It's the story of Thomas McFadden, a British cocaine trafficker who is caught and charged with trafficking 800g (was actually 5kg) of cocaine out of Bolivia. This story is of his time in the infamous San Pedro prison and shocking and also funny stories from within it's walls.

I picked this book up on Friday and finished it Saturday. There are very few books that keep me entertained for two straight days where Internet and TV sometimes find a way to interrupt, but Marching Powder did it. I even spent all of Saturday at Richard's house on the couch turning page after page, sometimes sharing a particular story, while he cleaned his house. I was a nice enough girlfriend to go with him to the laundromat, but even then we sat side-by-side waiting in silence while we read our respective novels.

Marching Powder was one of those novels that I was sad to close the cover on and found myself at a loss with it no longer in my life. I have since started reading another book, but it fails to hold sense of charm that being in San Pedro prison did - although it is John Birmingham's follow up to Felafel, so judging from his experience in share houses they don't seem too dissimilar to prison conditions.

If was going to recommend any book to read this year, Marching Powder would be the one.

To a Mountain in Tibet by Colin Thubron

The latest novel, by prolific travel writer and novelist Colin Thubron, To a Mountain in Tibet takes us on a very personal journey to Mount Kailas—one of the most sacred and rarely traveled to mountains in the world.

After the death of his mother, Thubron decides to trek through the central Himalayas with only a Nepalese guide and cook. A trek that turns out to be a relatively isolated reflection of his life, with focused memories of family members who are no longer with him.

As much as I wanted to enjoy this book it was a little like a lukewarm bath; I couldn’t wait to get out. This is a deeply personal and sad book, which is written well and exhibits a great reflective style, but also one filled with tremendous detail on the history of the Tibetan people and their customs.

While ordinarily I find this form of travelogue interesting, there was little in this book that engaged me as a reader. Much like Thubron’s arduous journey through the cold and desolate landscape, I found myself trapped inside his meandering thoughts for an arduous 218 pages, gasping at altitude. His memories and personal beliefs seemed detached from the story itself, which had the potential to provide some colour to the landscape, but instead the reader remained but a slightly distanced observer.

This novel requires a great deal of concentration and reflection and I wonder if memories are sometimes like diary entries—perhaps only interesting to those who experienced them.

I have read similarly themed novels on treks through forbidden cities of Tibet, but feel, unfortunately, that others have done it better.

Having said this, there appears to be unanimous admiration and appreciation of this book out in the world, gracing bookstore ‘staff recommended’ lists and with glowing reviews. Perhaps I lack the concentration required to fully appreciate the story at hand.

My appreciations lies more towards the author himself, tackling such a journey in his seventies—and appearing to be less affected by the journey than some of the locals who are traveling with him!

Thubron lacks no skill to turn a phrase and produces beautifully crafted sentences throughout the entire novel, with lines like, ‘Easy to imagine this an apocalyptic fracture in the order of things, a portent of sacred chaos, or at least a fanfare for the dawning holy month. I stand outside my tent, distracted by some dream I have forgotten,’ scattered across the novel like nuggets of written gold.

To a Mountain in Tibet does indeed read like some dream that is forgotten, but is being remembered again in the way that can only be remembered when we have the silence to do so.

Published on Media-Culture Reviews.

The Honey Spinner by Grace Pundyk

I came across this author a few years ago when I saw her at a travel writing seminar at the Brisbane Writers Festival. She just described her travels in search of honey, how it was made around the world and the political and environmental effects the honey industry had on it's countries with such passion that it made me want to read her book.

At the time I was about to take off to South America so I compiled my list of books I wanted to buy from the festival and decided to wait until I got back before breaking the bank on yet more books. Not sure why it took me three years to finally purchase the book, but here I am, finally done with it.

I've never been a fan of honey, it's too sickly sweet for my taste buds, but as I sit here typing this I'm sucking on a teaspoon of liquid gold with flecks of honeycomb, so I'm wondering if Grace has converted me.

Throughout the entire book I kept wanting to re-taste honey to see

if I had mistaken the taste that this woman wrote so passionately about. Grace writes about thick, dark yellow honey from the middle-east and her favourite honey, from Italy, that it made me reluctant to just go to the supermarket and buy some plain Australian generically manufactured honey like Capilano in a squeezy bottle.

However, this morning I had to trundle over to the Bi-lo since Rich was out of milk and I was in desperate need of coffee, I spotted a jar of Beechworth with a full honeycomb inside. I'd never seen honey like this on supermarket shelves (possibly because I'm never in the market for honey) so decided to buy a bottle. My first spoonful was exactly as all my previous experiences with honey went - cringe and then say, 'Meh, it's honey'. My second spoonful, however, I started to reconsider - I could see how this could be appealing.

I doubt I'm suddenly going to be converted into a honey lover, I'm thankful honey has no expiry date so I can keep it in the cupboard for however long it takes me to use - probably in some baked good or something. But this was an interesting book, if not exactly what I was expecting.

The book traces Grace's travels through a few select countries in her search for beekeepers, discusses their methods of beekeeping, the issues they have with a declining honey market, blended honey, bee diseases and logging. Like all non-fiction books, this one had it's moments of struggles when my brain wanted to run free amongst some fiction rather than focus itself on the subject at hand, but I'm glad I read it. I'm fascinated by how bees work, how the hives work, what the beekeepers job is and this book answered all those questions.

With my burning need to read The Honey Spinner out of my system I need to move onto my ever growing pile of books to review.

A cubicle with new view

I'm having one of those mornings where I got up at the usual time, made coffee, put the bins out, did some banking (because all of this occurs on a Wednesday) and now I'm sitting here procrastinating looking through my Flickr photos.

It's one of those days where going to work seems like the worst possible option and I'm dreaming of dusting off my backpack and taking out my camera for a new adventure.

I'm not usually the type of person who has too many personal items in the office. A habit from being a serial contractor, I suppose. You don't want to get too settled because you'll just have to move it all again. But after two years in the same place (albeit, I have moved around different roles since being there) I'm noticing some decoration of the cubicle occurring. Mostly by way of photos.

Travel photos mostly... and some of Richard. Because once work was an important part of my life (getting to the writing positions I wanted), now seems just like any other job. I used to have no trouble working buckets of over time, but now I can't get to the weekends fast enough. It's just not that important to me anymore. Spending time with my friends and Richard and going on holidays - that's mostly what I care about. Hrm, when I think about it... travel has always been my goal of working... so yeah, I guess not too much has changed in that regard.

But here I am procrastinating further by writing in this blog. Putting off the need to go iron some pants and make the bed and put on some makeup - turn into work Denver. Blergh. Least work Denver now has some pretty inspirational photos to look at in her cubicle with no view.