Black Wednesday and beyond

All week I'd remembered yesterday was Australia Day, naturally a public holiday in this most patriotic of countries.

How this fact escaped me when planning to send a truck load of stuff back ahead of me, to ensure my rucksack is actually capable of being carried round Asia, I have no idea. There I am being strong like an elephant and sweating profusely as I drag the offending items to "pack and send" only to have the reality of their closure dawn as I reach the barricaded frontage.

10am saw me doing my best Kate Winslet impression, wind in hair, head ocean facing, albeit on the Rottnest express rather than the Titanic. Unfortunately there were no charming cheeky chappy Leonardo Di Caprio types to rush to my side as I peered over the helm (searching for dolphins naturally rather than planning an exit from this life).

After a walk to some of the islands most alluring bays and a quick swim, I was delivered a double lunchtime whammy by Vanity Fair magazine. First up an article about Melissa Panarello, a child who's diaries of her teens (100 strokes) knocked the Da Vinci Code off the best seller list in more countries than I have visited. At the grand old age of eighteen she is promoting her second novel. This girl is not only a best selling novelist and possessor of the kind of winsome beauty mere mortals like me can only hanker after, but she had a perspective on love. Life and sex that left me yearning for her wisdom.

Next up, the story of Jo Malone, an elfinesque perfumer with more focus that she could shake her talented nose at. A plethora of adjectives all invoking the team spirit of her marriage pushed my self pity and unhelpful comparisons with the interviewees a step to far. Suddenly I'm sobbing in my seafood basket.

Luckily the Angels looking after me were having none of it. Batting directly to the animal lover they chose this exact moment to send me my first Quokka. (you may recall, and apologies to the Rottnest regulars for repetition, that Quokkas are a miniature kangaroo found on this sole island, in our Galaxy at least.) How could I resist smiling and reaching for my camera? After posing photogenically and ascertaining that this environmentally aware tourist was a bad bet for tit bits, the Quokka departed. The smile persisted for a fair while longer.

I awake this morning feeling much sunnier and after a spot of lounging by the pool, avoiding the predictable bombing from kids that accompanies such activities, got myself fitted with a snorkel in preparation for an afternoon of feet flapping and fish gazing.
I had a touch of this yesterday with a paddle in a plastic bottomed rather leaky boat, well more pedalo really, and enjoyed it so much that I'm off for more.
I also took the precaution of checking in with one of the sagest and most inspirational women in my life (and just writing this I realise how blessed I am with so many women who fit that description), Mrs Justine Schurrmans in New Jersey. Armed with the mantra of "one day at a time" I have resolved that the challenge for this paradise set specimen is to ensure that the self-pity and unhelpful comparisons are to be popped in a box labeled "yesterday", forgiven as a bit of sadness is to be expected when you say goodbye to someone you love, and moved beyond. I have also decided that helpful as time to myself has been, my gregarious side is being revived in Bali and I am going to seek out some interesting conversation in the company of the islands inhabitants and my fellow travelers.

Life is a rollercoaster, and as Ronan Keating, that less than inspiring wordsmith once said, you just got to ride it.
Julie x