“Above all, be true to yourself, and if you cannot put your heart in it, take yourself out of it.” ~Unknown

PPPPerth.

I haven't written in a while and I make the excuse that I am just living an every day life with an urban routine that includes a part-time job, managing my leftover budget after paying rent, taking advantage of going out to experience all of Perth's offerings, and attempting to meet people to establish friendships and stories along the way. That doesn't mean that it isn't fun. It doesn't mean that it's boring. It's all part of the adventure. But, with that slowed-down version of what life has been, I have had a lot more time to reflect upon life in Australia and question what I am doing here. I've been applying to jobs in order to find new challenges. I evaluate what I accomplished in the day, in the week, that I couldn't do anywhere else in the world since I made a choice to come to the other side. I look for ways to learn, as in, my own search for "the best" spinach-ricotta pastry roll in the city. I daydream over what's next in my Australian adventure. I mull over whether or not I'm making the most of my time here. There is usually at least one part of the day when I'm walking down the street and have a moment where I smile and can't believe I am here but then the other day I woke up crying and couldn't explain why.  I was walking home one day, barefoot in Australian style, and was in love with the neighbourhood I was in. I texted Jess and said, you would love Perth, it's a lot like California. And she responded, well why don't you live in California - it's much closer. And I couldn't think of a reply except that, I like their accents better here. 

photo from amber rae

I was recently introduced to a a blog by Amber Rae who describes herself as "hell-bent on cultivating a world where human potential is not governed by what we’re told we can and cannot do, but rather by our highest intentions and inner gifts; and obsessed with unrealized potential and helping people claim the lives they are meant to live." Her blog posts and quotes rang exceptionally true to many of my recent thoughts. One post mentioned this article by Paul Graham called Cities and Ambition. 

And hence, from these two, come my latest and greatest blog post about my own life's brooding musings. 

Paul Graham proposes that each city sends a message which attract people who aspire to that same message:

"New York tells you, above all: you should make more money.

What I like about Boston (or rather Cambridge) is that the message there is: you should be smarter.

As much as they respect brains in Silicon Valley, the message the Valley sends is: you should be more powerful.

The message Berkeley sends is: you should live better.

The big thing in LA seems to be fame.

 In DC the message seems to be that the most important thing is who you know.

in London you can still (barely) hear the message that one should be more aristocratic."

I actually smiled when I read this article because I knew immediately how to relate it to Perth. Whenever I am asked, I always say I like Perth a lot. Why, they inquire. Because it has a lot of potential, I respond. I elaborate that I like how Perth isn't touristy - there are a lot of foreigners, but they all live here. There aren't really many touristy sites....the Bell Tower? Along with that, and the fact that it is so far away from everywhere else, makes Perth feel as though it's your own personal best kept secret; you have it to yourself to mould it into its potential. The messages that Paul Graham associate with these cities ring true as cities are merely collections of people with like-minds. To link that idea to what I'm doing in Perth therefore makes sense. Like Perth, I believe that I have a lot of potential to be, and do, something great, and Perth is currently my stepping stone along my life-path's direction. Me, and all the other foreigners who left home and came to Perth to figure it out. 

"No matter how determined you are, it's hard not to be influenced by the people around you. It's not so much that you do whatever a city expects of you, but that you get discouraged when no one around you cares about the same things you do." - Paul Graham

With it's potential, I think Perth must have some sort of interesting food scene, or at least I think it should (maybe that's why I haven't found it yet.) I feel like there's something missing that I haven't caught on to yet, but I'm constantly looking for it as I feel it is well suited for Perth (re: potential). Maybe the answer is me. Maybe I should start it rather than seek it out where it doesn't exist. If I truly believe I am capable of this so-called potential, then what am I doing about it? Paul Graham says that, as determined as you are to make a city work for you, to find your niche within it, you most likely won't find it or will have a hard time building it into the city. He wanted Cambridge, but couldn't find it in NYC. 

I don't mean to sound contradictory, saying that you can't build your own niche within a city of a determined message, while saying that I am looking for it in Perth and maybe it's up to me to create it. What (I think) I mean to say is that, Perth's potential makes me want to stay here. I have a flat here, a crappy job, I have friends. I want to have a life, and that daunting yet promising future may actually involve leaving to another city and starting all over again. Maybe it's an excuse, but it is safer, more comfortable, and easier to stay than leave.  I haven't been to the east yet, but everyone says Perth is at least 10 years behind it - probably the reason why there is so much room for its budding potential. I often feel as though I am racing against a clock in the opposite way of Perth. Instead of catching up with time, I wish I wasn't as old as I am - even though age is just a number - but wish that I had more time to do all the things I want to. I definitely don't regret any of my past choices or experiences along the way, but I just don't know how I am supposed to fit in everything else in before I am really really OLD. I'm torn therefore, between fitting everything into this ticking clock - I can't believe I've been in Australia 6 months already - and staying in this comfortable way of life I've created for myself over here, on my very own. I won't know until I am in a new place, and hear it's message for myself. Maybe it will ring true, resonating all the right answers I'm looking for, or maybe it will just be silent; creating just another step along the way. 

Paul Graham says he moved to Florence thinking that it would be the art centre of the world that he was looking for, only to find out he was 450 years too late. Maybe I'm too early for Perth. Maybe Perth's potential and my potential are waiting to coincide at the right moment. Maybe I keep traveling and living all over the world because I am looking for the resonating message who's city (or farm?) is filled with the right like-minded people who will help me aspire to my own potential's greatness. Everywhere along the way has led me here, and has helped shape not only who I am, but the world I am looking for. Because I do not know what that is exactly, I take life as series of adventures, of different stages where I'm learning and living through experiencing. Before I left for Italy, mum asked me if I were to get married right then, who would be my bridesmaids. When I returned from Italy a year later, she asked me the same question and the answer had changed. Some people come in and out of our lives for a reason. They all matter. They're all connecting pieces of the puzzle. They're all part of the process that move us forward. Who knows what's next?! I'm excited to find out. In the mean time, I will take full advantage of the ticking time to realise all of Perth's potential probably* until November, when the comfort of my flat's lease is up and the weather is better in the rest of Australia (because Australia is all sunshine, beaches, and hot surfers right?)

*...I was invited up to Darwin next week, and I am tempted to say yes, to grab the spur of the moment adventure and just go with it. Even though I cannot afford it, it would be fun. 


Thank you Reena. 

Shit Australians Say #8

To me at work: "Where's your accent from? Canada?"

From Jessica. xo

"An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all." oscar wilde

“Fishermen were stringing their lines for goujon and frying them up on the spot. I bought a handful wrapped in newspaper and sat on the wall watching the barges move under Pont Sully. The nest of fish was crisp under a coarse snow of salt and smelled so simple and good I thought they might save my life. Just a little. Just for that moment.” The Paris Wife. 

“Your outlook on life is a direct reflection on how much you like yourself.” ~ Lululemon

"Though their life was modest, they believed in eating well." — James Joyce (Dubliners)

My flatmate keeps making fun of me for continuously threatening myself with an instant ramen diet.

The first week of living here in Perth after moving up from Frankland, I wandered past the big chains and overpriced gourmet food stores to find myself in a little mart jammed packed with all sorts of foreign Asian goods with no English descriptions on the packaging. The only thing I could comprehend beyond the savory images were the numbers marking the price. Quite content on finding the so-far cheapest bottle of Sriracha in Perth and picking up two differently flavored packages of 5-packet ramens for $5, I thought I had found myself a bargain that my partime salary could compete with.

As I've mentioned before: Perth is a ridiculously expensive city. As I've implied before: to call Perth a city is relative. Let's rephrase: Perth is a ridiculously expensive place. Since living here for the last month - really living here - I have come to understand why.

I type this as the tab for ANZ's Internet banking is open, but I am hesitant to reveal the truth of it's accounts to make my survival until next week's pay day become a stark and dismal reality.

The main reason Perth is so expensive is that it can be. It's like a spoiled only child. Located in the middle of nowhere, the nearest city, Adelaide, is over 2,000 kilometers away; a flight from Perth in the West to Sydney in the East is about 5 hours - the same length for a flight from the American East coast to it's West coast; and driving 10 hours directly north of Perth only covers about 2 inches on a map. Part of this connection between its isolation and its monopoly over exuberant prices is that it is expensive to import things from around the world, let alone transport goods from other parts of the country. Indonesia is closer to Perth than Sydney is. Maybe because of this, and/or maybe they don't have any other choice, I have found that Australia is very proud in selling their own products: most bars serve a majority of Australian beers, most bottle shops predominately sell Australian wines, many bands are local artists, everyone claims to have known Heath Ledger - just kidding.

Another tie in to the expensiveness and remoteness is that Perth is a booming hub for the resource industry. With all the surrounding nothingness, there are a lot of mining jobs to be had with a lot of work to be done. These unfavorable locations and long hours pay a lot of money for these jobs. Called FIFO - fly in fly out - people fly to remote destinations for jobs that will last maybe 2 weeks at a time working hard with nowhere or no time to spend their money, then they fly home to Perth for a week with pockets filled with money to burn. Apparently, part of the lure to bring people to work in these desolate areas is to have tremendously nice facilities. Perth then has to compete with keeping people in all sectors of the economy in Perth. Why work in retail or hospitality when you could have a cleaning job at the mines earning $100,000 a year? How can the schools compete with teachers salaries in the city and providing quality education when the teachers can get more money up north? People are literally changing career paths to earn more money in the mines. With these incredible incomes and salaries, Perth can get away with charging such high prices that people now have the money to spend. I would say that the standard employment pay is relative to the standard of living in Perth, but it's not necessarily fair to the people who do not have jobs in the mining industry who are still trying to survive. This has caused a huge discrepancy between the population. My hourly rate isn't bad, but that doesn't mean I can afford a $16 sandwich for lunch or can buy a round of $10 beers. Once in the night. For two people. It's tempting, really tempting, to go work for $80/hour at one of the mines to put away a couple grand, but at the same time, I would feel like a tremendous sell out. Money can't be everything, it can't be the driving force in life.....oh! but the prospect of the promises that financial security offers is so so tempting. I haven't necessarily ruled it out yet. The ANZ tab is glaring at me, daring me to face reality. But, what would my friends and family think if I worked in a MINE?!

So if Perth is so expensive and I'm trying to save money to travel, you must wonder: why am I living here, currently in fear of my bank account, and with the packets of ramen still uneaten? You must wonder, if it hasn't already pissed you off, why have I resorted to buying terrible ramen noodles like a poor college student, which I never ate in college, when I KNOW how to eat better than that after a year of apparent studying in Italy?

Which brings me to two points I want to discuss:

Despite feeling quite proud in my bargain shopping of cheap ramen, even doing a comparison shopping of different brands and prices and flavors, there is a reason why they are still sitting in the larder. I thought I was doing the right thing, buying cheap food to save my money and thinking this $5 would feed me for at least 10 meals (10 days actually, I don't think I could even attempt to endeavour eating more than one packet in a day). But the more I thought about it, the more I understood how I was dooped into the negative way people think about food these days. I felt, without thinking about it, that I had to buy crap in order to not spend a lot of money. But didn't I just spend a whole year studying the culture of food, the economy of food, the politics of food, the effects food has on the environment and on our health? Why did I immediately think I had to buy instant processed food in order to save money? Shouldn't I be preaching better purchasing decisions and better eating habits to show people that they can buy quality food without breaking the bank? Isn't that what made me so frustrated about customers and their thoughts towards buying foods at the farmers market last summer - didn't I want to prove them wrong? Isn't this what I want to educate people on: how can a 69 cent bag of instant just-add-hot-water food with dehydrated vegetables and high sodium flavoring from Asia actually cost 69 cents? What is the nutritional content of 69 cents (I don't know, it's all in Chinese). Here I was going into "survival mode" of bulk instant ramen - the spicy kind of course, I might add - and getting angry and frustrated at the way food is treated and marketed and even more so, embarrassed at myself.

Instead, I bought bags of red, green, and black lentils, chickpeas, couscous, whole wheat penne, and flour to make homemade bread to slice and keep in the freezer. I'm not sure where the food comes from, but the Subiaco weekend market has terrific prices and all sorts of produce. If you go at the end of the day on Sunday they are literally trying to give away the food for $1 a bag. The little Asian shop down the street in Maylands sells discounted food that most places would throw out because of a few blemishes or is on it's last day on the shelf. My body craves vegetables, not instant food, and despite every purchase being a comparison shop and being conscious about what I want and what I need and what I can afford, I am more aware of the price of the food and wondering how certain bags of carrots or a head of lettuce can be so cheap. I know I shouldn't be complaining because I'm trying not to spend money either - I expected 10 meals from $5 - but it's ridiculous what people expect out of food. How they will pay $4.50 for a small cup of coffee or $3 for a soda, but then complain about the cost of milk or not have any comprehension surrounding the efforts put into production or the cost of transportation or the wages for the labor. *sigh

dilemma. 

6 bottles of cheap wine may seem like a good deal, but 2 bottles of quality good-tasting wine really make a difference. Same goes for olive oil. For local fruits. For vegetables in season. For making homemade bread.

buy less for your budget. buy better for your life. 

I am still tempted to do a full-on ramen diet week - I have the packets already, why let them go to waste (if there even is an expiration date). I've tried already, but once mixed in a jar of kimchi and another time added some sauteed bok choy and cut up tomatoes into it with drizzles of Sriracha. I physically can't bear to empty the packet of powdered flavoring into it, knowing how much sodium is in it, but maybe, just as an experiment, I could see what it's like to really live on a ramen diet.....thoughts?

And so to the second point from that previous discussion:

I like Perth a lot. Despite being one of the most expensive cities in the world, it is also ranked as one of the most livable and one of the highest qualities of living (is there any oxymoron somewhere there?) Just seventeen years short of being 200 years old (!) it reminds me a lot of California. Yes, the sunny weather and beach side proximity do help in this comparison. It's clean, pretty, budding, walkable, manageable.  Sure, there are a lot of ugly buildings, but there's a lot of breath-takingly unique ones. I love the neighborhoods in the suburbs where each house is distinctly different as though each plot of land had its own architect with a freedom to design whatever they wanted and took advantage of that opportunity. I could go on and on about the houses, but I can't find the right descriptive vocabulary right now.

What I like about Perth, and part of the reason why I decided to come to the west coast first, is that despite all the travelers, backpackers, and heavily populated foreigners, there aren't a lot of tourists (differentiation: tourists don't live here). It's kinda its own hidden gem. There aren't a whole lot of touristy sights in Perth in general and maybe that observation has something to do with me making fun of it being called a city. Before I left for Australia, most people I had talked to who had been here had been to the east coast, but said they never made it to Perth or Western Australia as it was too far away. I haven't been to the east coast yet, so I can't say anything about that, but for now, I like Perth. A lot of people rave about Melbourne and say Perth is 10 or even 20 years behind it, but I think Perth has a lot of potential. And for that, I'm rooting for Perth.
For the last couple "moves" I've always had a time frame: a year in Italy, a few months in Ireland, a summer in Portsmouth, a little over a month in Ireland, then a few weeks in Perth before 3 months in Frankland. Now I have no time frame, no future destination or plan, and I kinda like the freedom of it. I applied for a job in a restaurant because I thought it'd be still along the food lines slash hospitality side of things in terms of learning all the in's and out's of the food industry while at the same time being flexible, social, and non-committal so that I could test out the Perth waters to see if I liked it or at least get some cash before deciding where I wanted to go next. But for now, I like it, and think I might look for something a little more serious until something else comes along. I like the paychecks, the routine of work, the rent responsibility, the budgeting of money I've worked for, the "real life" I haven't had in a while. I love my little home with my own room and my flatmate, but living out of a backpack still makes me feel a little "unreal." For now, it's ok. For now, the ramen will be there for cases of starving emergencies in between paychecks and as a reminder that although life can be tough, there's always a lesson to learn from it. Sacrifice may mean learning how to prioritize, but it doesn't have to mean sacrificing the quality of your life or disregarding your standards, no matter where you are.

I have since opened up the ANZ tab. Let's not talk about it. 

From Catherine. xo

For what it’s worth: "it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”  ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, in a letter to his daughter

....just re-read the quote below. not sure why one would be in a situation where police would be sitting in the room next door...but yeah sure, it could happen. quite the predicament. 

“I sensed that a clear picture of my predicament lay veiled nearby, like an exam result in an envelope, or a pair of policemen sitting in the next-door room, awaiting my arrival.” - The Country Life.

As vintage slowly came to an end, so did my time at Frankland Estate. At first, I was taken aback when Elizabeth mentioned May, suggesting that I could stay until the end of vintage if I wanted to. Three months seemed like a daunting amount of time, but it soon became clear that it made sense. Not only was it the amount of time I needed for my regional work, but it was also the length of time Felix would be there for his internship. Those three months would have been a completely different experience for both of us if we didn’t have each other as roomies – I could not have been more grateful.

As the previous day's road trip clearly showed that vintage had come to an end (the work is so full-on that it is rare to have a day off) I spent the following day reading a book about a twenty-nine year old who leaves her London life to move to the country to work on a family estate. Suddenly, I had a terrible thought. Not terrifically terrible, but almost panicked. I thought, what if, once again, in a state of contentment and easiness, I have over-extended my stay. I don’t think it is quite over-extended yet, as last week was the end of vintage, but another month here I think will be over-extended. I knew the time was coming up, but I didn’t think that it was now, sooner rather than later. There wasn’t much work left for me to do at the winery – although there is always something to do – but I’m pretty sure I was all set with my experience in labeling, bottling, and shipments. It wasn’t so much the what or where that had me in a panic, but the time frame I had to figure those out. Last time I was trying to figure out what to do it took me three weeks. Luckily, as things always seem to work themselves out, I figured it out sooner rather than later during a weekend in Perth. After a week of researching, applying, and writing to people and places, I had an interview and a flat meeting set up. And before the weekend was over, I had a  part time job and a room in a flat! Everything seemed to come together so easily that I was just waiting for something to go wrong.  It didn’t. Goodbye country mice and vineyard spiders, Hello city life. 

One Last Road Trip in Great Southern.

As vintage slowly came to an end, we not only had a day to go on a road trip but also had two guests – the Sydney distributor and a sommelier who sells FE wines at his Sydney bar – to show around. First stop: the Rocky Gully Pub. A trip to Frankland wouldn’t be complete without the experience of the one and only local pub. We picked up some appropriately classy Emu Bitters and were on our way. 


We drove to Mt Barker and then even further out of town until we reached a little sign on the side road pointing down a driveway that said “Maleeya’s Thai Food.” Thai food on the outskirts of the Porongurup National Park might seem a bit odd, and maybe it was, but it was a tasty little treat. 


The petite Thai chef Maleeya has quite an impressive and international culinary background, including Le Cordon Bleu, and an equally impressive garden outside the restaurant where she grows not only 260 varieties of bamboo, edible plants, and exotic flowers, but the herbs and vegetables she uses in the kitchen. Her Swedish husband Peter served us the dishes that we shared along with the BYO wines we had brought. Being in what seems like the middle of nowhere and to amplify it's apparent randomness, the small dining room looks more like a tourist information center with its bright cedarwood, postcards for sale, posters of the surrounding area, and pictures of their home-range Highland cattle.

 If you’re ever in the area, be sure to stop by for some home-made locally grown Thai food, but be sure to call ahead if you’re a vegetaraian and be definitely sure to BYO!

With a wine maker, a wine distributer, a sommelier, and a wine business student, it was natural that we would go to one of the local wineries. There are quite a few in the area, but most are quite small and we went to one of the better known ones, Castle Rock. Set on a hill, Castle Rock has extensive views with the mountains in the distance. 

It was quiet as the father and son wine makers were hidden amongst the tanks, busy at work and unexpectant of visitors, but were happy to give us a tasting.

After lunch, there was talk about taking a walk, or a hike, up one of the local mountains to check out the views. After the recent hike, or walk, up Bluff Knoll and after a full lunch that included a peanut allergic reaction and glasses of wine, and then more wine at Castle Rock, I was on the side of dissuading this excursion. 

Luckily, we ultimately decided it was a bit late in the day and we were ill-equipped for a trip that the locals informed us would take longer than we had anticipated. 

But, we still had a bottle of Pinot Noir to drink, so Hunter drove us to a spot I am pretty sure is not in any guide books of the area.*

climbing up.
*(if such a book existed HA). 

wine on the hill.

nice day. 

When life gives you lemons from a tree in the backyard 

and a sommelier from Sydney as your guest for the weekend, 

  let him make Whiskey Sours. 

“Another man, an American, had once told her in a high, laughing moment his theory of love. It was magic, he said. The magic ain’t real, darling, but when it’s gone, it’s over.” – Tim Winton, Dirt Music

To the End of the World.

We had finished the hike and left the national park around 2.30 so by the time we go to the coast around Albany, we were quite famished and worn from the heat of the sun. We drove in silence with the loud sound of the wind whipping through the windows filling the car with warm air as we realized it was too loud to bother talking and we were equally too tired to bother exerting any more energy.  Fish, the guy I had met at the half way point, had mentioned seeing some places called The Gap and The Blowholes, so with map in hand, I directed us there, with the hopes of a sea-side restaurant. The prospect slowly diminished as we drove past the turn for the town-center and veered down the Frenchman Bay Pennisula. As soon as we did, I knew there would be no eateries from previous beach-side adventures, but this was withheld, unbeknownst to the driver. As soon as he realized it, when we turned into Torndirrup National Park, the mood turned sour. Luckily, for me as a saving grace, and for both of us as an unforgettable experience, the stop was well worthwhile. 

The Gap is, literally, the end of the Australia. The rocks we were standing on were once connected to Antartica.

 The rocks were smooth and climbable, but everywhere were signs posting danger, warnings of swift winds blowing you away and unexpected rushes of waves that could sweep you away. And rightfully so. The wind was forceful and the sea was crashing against the coast – the combination resulting in the reason for the smoothness of the rocks and the formation of the gap. 

 Brave tourists shimmied to the edge, as close as they dared for a photo opp, while others stayed to the built footpath and scant guard rails.

As close as I could get, I peered over the edge and the cliffs just dropped directly into the tumultous sea – there would be no saving if you went over. 

It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to set, casting a gorgeous light over the coast.  I found it, despite all the potential for danger, incredibly peaceful. I imagined bringing a good book and laying on the smooth rocks, basking in the warm sun with intimate thoughts about the world while sitting at the very edge of it. It had a familiar reminiscence of Ireland – of Giant’s Causeway matching the same rocks in Scotland as they do here in Australia and Antartica, as well as the natural beauty of Horn Head with it’s coastal winds daring to blow people off into the cold Atlantic.

But then the pangs of hunger and the fact that I couldn’t remember the last time I was in a place with so many tourists (and it really wasn’t that many) reminded me that we needed to refuel before heading back in the dark. 

You Put the Buff in Bluff Knoll.

BUFF!

As noted as one of the top 25 best hikes in Australia, you definitely need to be buff to hike this non-knoll in Western Australia’s Stirling Range. Perhaps, if not definitely, chosen for it’s well-known name and fame, I was not prepared for such physical activity. And by not prepared I mean: 1 run in the last month and a half, lifting bottles of wine and cases as the most exercise I get every day, 30C cloudless weather in the middle of the day, the caloric endurance of half a banana, a Cadbury egg, and leftover wine swimming in the system from the night before, and no water bottle to accompany the hike. Let’s just say that if I were thrown into the Hunger Games, I would not survive. While I was climbing up the steep incline, if I wasn’t thinking about fainting or about my knee popping out of the socket as it often does or about whatever creature was lurking in the leaves around me or concentrating on my non-inhaler breathing techniques, then I was thinking about the silver parcel floating down from the sky delivering me a bottle of ice-cold water. It never arrived to drown out those other thoughts from my mind and I thought I would certainly evaporate into the heat. Actually, the top of Bluff Knoll actually does get snow - maybe one of the few places in Western Australia that does - although it was hard to fathom such an idea at the time.

1,000 million years old

 I did make it to the half way point - 1.6km up - and had a lovely viewing spot to contemplate whether or not the photo opps at the top or my pride were worth the physical exertion required to make it the rest of the way. I did try to continue, until JD came bounding down, saying that the second half is much steeper and the view was impressive but all I needed was a shrug of convincing to turn around and head down towards water and lunch. 

view of the carpark down below.

The Stirling Range National Park is home to over 1,000 different species of flowers and plants and amongst those along my way, I actually saw a lizard the size of my arm walk out in the path in front of me - which for a 5'10" person is of impressive length - but I could not muster up the energy to take a picture of it as I tried to swallow my panting and not scare it away. But as I could have lied and said I made it to the top, I didn't, because I am a terrible liar, so you will just have to believe me when I say it was Huge.

Awkwardly trying not to fall down the ravine below. Awkwardly. 

Easter.

I had a long weekend for the Easter holiday so I decided to take advantage and use the travel time to go up to Perth. I yearned for a bit of civilization, socializing, and familiarity - sure, we’ve taken the weekends to get away and be touristy around Great Southern, but they've just been day trips really - and yet at the same time I was anxious about how I would feel towards “big”* city life after two months in “isolation”**: would I hate it, would I love it, would it be loud, would I feel rushed, would I miss it?  In the end, I really enjoyed being back in Perth: seeing people I knew, laughing a lot while catching up, learning how to play poker - and winning - singing karaoke, not drinking wine, and relishing in the familiar ease of navigating my way around.

*"big" as in Perth isn't really a big city.

** "isolation" as in Frankland really is isolated.

It would have been nice to have another day, but I had quickly spent all my money without knowing or realizing it – it’s just an expensive place in general. I spent in three hours to feel like a “normal” “civilized” “real” person again three times as much as I spend in an entire week down south. It was nice to know that I still liked Perth for future movements, and also nice to realize that I was happy to come back to my little "zoo" of a home in Frankland.

What I really realized from this weekend away was how lucky I have been. From talking to people about what I was doing four hours south, it occurred to me that I couldn’t have written to a better place to work at. I wrote to Frankland Estate because they were listed in the WWOOF book, not because I had heard of them before. Going through the book, I knew I wanted to work towards my three months of regional work to be eligible to apply for my second year visa as a dual-experience by combining it with a continuation of learning in an area I was interested in. I don't think I would be suitable for or interested in fence building, outdoor lavatories, or massive cattle farms, but I wrote to wineries, olive orchards, and even thought I could sacrifice my asthma for working on a goat farm making cheese. The WWOOF book only contains hosts that practice organic farming. The places I wrote to out of interest in their farming practices could have been of any quality and any size production. Only after had I received a response from the estate did I think to look it up online and began to search for it in wine guide books in the book stores of Perth. The fact that they even had a website and that the books even listed them gave them credibility to me – and more so with their high wine scores. I guess it is safe to say I was desperate for an opportunity and willing to take anything, but for some reason, luck was on my side. Despite all the anxious anticipation I had from reading how remote they were on the website, that soon eased away with the compatibility of my roomie, the friendliness of the family, the hands-on approach to the work, and the deliciousness of the wine. It all could have been crap and I could have hated it. But the Frankland Estate wines, even though I am still learning and trying to train my palate, are remarkable and I could not have been luckier to have such a wine-learning experience here. The patience and the fervor in which the people like to talk about wine is tremendous.  The hard work is literally never-ending, but because it is a family-run estate, the dedication is unstoppable and full of passion. They work for each other and with each other and the final product reveals this time, effort, and love.


Leaving for a long weekend and coming back, I realize how much I have learned and am grateful for the experience and opportunity. It was the perfect timing for it - not only mentally but because it is the end of vintage. Now, I need to figure out what’s next. You’d think I was used to it by now - always moving, always changing, always planning, always unsure of the future - but it always causes a scratching of anxiety that I try to block out. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it eventually comes to the surface, peer-pressuring me to face it, like the chore you don’t want to to do or the bill you avoid paying until last minute.

Baa-Baa 

2010: Two years ago I spent Easter in northern Greece eating all parts of a lamb roasted whole outside in the back yard with friends I had just met, but are now life-long friends.

2011: Last year I spent Easter with our family friends in Dunfanaghy eating Irish lamb and potatoes.

2012: This year I spent Easter in Australia with an American and a German eating a backyard-raised lamb grilled on the BBQ in the typical Aussie fashion outside on a warm autumn night. 

Maybe lamb is the only commonality between these last couple of years, in various countries around the world with different people, but as we remarked this year, it doesn't matter where you are or who you are with but that one little piece of tradition brings the holiday together. Tradition doesn't have to be about doing the same thing every year, but you make it mean something to yourself. We could have ate pasta. We didn't have mint sauce. But the lamb made it feel like we were celebrating Easter. It was appropriate and it was appreciated. 

I wanted a perfect ending.  Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.  ~Gilda Radner

Shit Australians Say #7*

*Australian winemakers

"It takes a lot of beer to make good wine."

Hand-Picking Grapes

I had written a blog post about what I thought about hand-picking grapes, how it isn't just about finding bat-like moths amongst the vines, but some internet glib and POOF I've lost it. The wording was just as I wanted (#perfect), the pictures had finally enough wi-fi power to upload (#shocking), but now it's been about two weeks since I've lost it and am still too infuriated to write it again (#sulking). To further exacerbate the situation, on the last day of hand-picking, we all got some food-poisoning-like vomiting-bug that now looking back on it makes me glad it was the last day of hand-picking. The words are lost. The pictures, re-uploaded, are sitting there in the draft story-less without the words. The novelty of the work has dissipated.  

I wanted to portray about what I liked about the handful of times I had hand-picked grapes. Although I definitely wouldn't want to do it for 8 hours a day for the rest of my life, this last sentence would appall my roomie and probably doesn't mean much to anyone who hasn't had such an experience, so let me explain.

I wanted to rationalize that yes, the early morning start is often too cold to comfortably want to get out of bed and yes, the early morning dew on the vines makes wet hands even colder, but the early morning sunrises make the work somewhat reward, and more than anything, tolerable. The crouching fog rises with the warming autumn sun and before I know it I'm grateful for my hat (#thanksSheelagh) and wondering what to do with all the layers I'm wearing. 

Sure-tell sign of spiders lurking in the near vicinity.

I wanted to illustrate how hand-picking is manual labor (#hardworkappreciation) of constant clipping, continuously moving down the row, filling one bucket after another until all of the grape variety is picked. It is repetitive, monotonous, inane work. To some, it may seem as demeaning, inferior work (#MexicansinAmerica #AfganisinAustralia) but when you take a quick break to look up from the work that you are participating in next to the winemaker, across from the owner, down the row from the hired help, along side the four-year-old son (#familyestate), and look down the row of vines you are standing in, you realize that you are part of the vineyard, completely surrounded by the magic that everyone thinks of when they think of wine making (#repeat #appreciation). Wait a second. Let me show you my scars, the cracks in my hands, the cuts, the bruises that I have that will forever remind me of the hard un-magical work that goes into making wine. But, that feeling of being a part of it, the feeling of appreciation, the feeling of equality, the feeling of witnessing beauty in the making, is truly gratifying.

I wanted to share that sometimes hand-picking is about the independence of putting the headphones on and getting lost in your own thoughts while clipping along to the beat, but other times it’s about the parallel companionship as the other person encourages you to keep up the same pace and often helps you with difficultly tangled bunches (#thelittlethings) The time is filled with getting-to-know-you chitter-chatter with a faceless voice on the other side of the vines that keeps you going until the coffee smoke-o (#theimportantthings).

I wanted to embellish upon the fact that hand picking grapes isn’t as easy as just clip clip clip (#skills). There are different ways to grow grapes, which in turn means different ways to approach picking the grapes. By managing the leaf canopy as to affect the way the bunches hang off the vines, determines and depends on numerous factors such as how much shade protection or sun penetration is needed to develop ripeness, promote photosynthesis, and prevent diseases; the desired air circulation; the accessibility of manual labor required for harvesting and pruning; controlling vigor and yields; and the distribution dependent on the climate, weather conditions, and location of the growing site.

I therefore wanted to elaborate that in this sense, since I am not yet accustomed to all the appropriate ways to quickly clip the bunches, I realized that I wouldn’t be very good at being paid per picking (#Tomatoland). Apparently there is a statistic of how much a person should be able to pick within an amount of time. If I am picking alone, I usually pick for both sides, therefore taking more time in one spot rather than clipping what’s on “my side” of the vines (#toomucheffort or #toomuchtime?). As I am aware of what it’s like to meet these grapes back at the winery as they are being sorted through, I fastidiously am discarding green/unripe/sun-bruised/raisin-y/bird-pecked grapes and making sure there are no leaves/moths/spiders/mice in the bucket. But regardless, Barry usually comes to me on the other side of the vines and says “How’s it going, Shauna? Pretty slow?” I slightly smile, reminding myself of the Quality Control (#Arina), and then match his pace.

Maybe because I am too busy taking pictures...

But what I really wanted to say was that despite all the tucked-away bugs, end-of-summer early mornings, and purple-stained stickiness, the best part of hand-picking grapes is that you are never hungry!