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.