We took a drive up through the highlands this weekend. Begining with a tour of the small-but-stunning town of Stirling on Friday evening and Saturday morning, and ending with an enjoyable sprint from Inverness to Edinburgh on Sunday evening.
In between I was witness to some of the most amazing scenery I have ever been so privileged to see. The Scottish Highlands are an absolute wonder. As the shores of Loch Lomond gave way to the bare hills of Rhannach Moor, Glencoe Valley, and Loch Leven, words were stolen and replaced merely by repeated gasps at the beauty that was before me. In much the same way, Loch Ness took my breath from me as I gently immersed my face in the cold, cloudy waters (keeping a promise to my mother that I would pass her greetings on to the fabled monster), not just with its icy temperatures, but with the sincerity and drama of the surrounding landscape.
It is a beautiful thing to see a cloud swallow entire hills just metres from where you're standing. Hills that, when visible, are incredibly steep, rocky, seemingly unconquerable, eternal, formidable; hills that defeated the Romans over 2000 years ago, that held at bay the English armies for almost as long; hills that have changed highland hands hundreds of times, but have never themselves changed or relented. Hills that must still succumb to the gentle rolling of low-lying rain clouds, rendered completely invisible by nothing more than wafts of air-filled water.
An old friend of mine passed away recently. He was a proud Scot, whose genuine excitement travelled halfway around the world when I called him from Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh. Pop was a man who lived life because that's exactly what the word 'life' means - living. He took opportunities in the same way that he took disappointments - with a smile, and an attitude that reassured you no matter the situation. His grey hair and thick grey beard could not hide the youth that still sparkled in his eyes, nor could his aging exterior contain the energy that he still exuded.
He wasn't a huge man, but he had an unconquerable sense of humour, an amazingly kind heart, and an incredible spirit. All who knew him will miss him dearly, without exception.
In passing his body may have completely disappeared from this world, but I know that he is here, somewhere, just behind the clouds.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
A short black for a long while
I treated myself to a macchiato this morning at a friendly little deli around the corner from where I used to live.
I sat, read the newspapers, sipped slowly at the tiny coffee, and completely immersed myself in matters of the world.
Financial crises, leadership challenges, stories of violence, stories of hope, cynicism beside optimism beside pessimism beside strange inquisition. The less liquid there was in my cup, the more I found my thoughts floating far from myself and to those people and issues that I truly care about.
After being completely involved in my own world for so long, it was a comforting relief to re-find some perspective beyond the borders of my life.
There is so much that I miss from home. People, problems, solutions, challenges, familiarity, family, friends... But the wonderful thing about this re-discovery was that I could also look back on my own self from without, and I could see exactly where I was.
I was walking along the Meadows, with Edinburgh Castle keeping watch over my left shoulder, a bag of bread and a carton of eggs under my right arm, and an old friend on the phone from Brisbane. I could see the distance between myself and my native land, but I could also see all the Australia that I carry with me, all the home that lives in my heart.
This morning I remembered what an incredibly lucky guy I am, and that is a really great way to start a day.
I sat, read the newspapers, sipped slowly at the tiny coffee, and completely immersed myself in matters of the world.
Financial crises, leadership challenges, stories of violence, stories of hope, cynicism beside optimism beside pessimism beside strange inquisition. The less liquid there was in my cup, the more I found my thoughts floating far from myself and to those people and issues that I truly care about.
After being completely involved in my own world for so long, it was a comforting relief to re-find some perspective beyond the borders of my life.
There is so much that I miss from home. People, problems, solutions, challenges, familiarity, family, friends... But the wonderful thing about this re-discovery was that I could also look back on my own self from without, and I could see exactly where I was.
I was walking along the Meadows, with Edinburgh Castle keeping watch over my left shoulder, a bag of bread and a carton of eggs under my right arm, and an old friend on the phone from Brisbane. I could see the distance between myself and my native land, but I could also see all the Australia that I carry with me, all the home that lives in my heart.
This morning I remembered what an incredibly lucky guy I am, and that is a really great way to start a day.
One door closes, another one opens
Whether it be through cheesey pop music, or the wise adages of ancient soothsayers, life is often described as a rollercoaster. There are ups and downs, twists and turns, and sometimes even full loops and swirls.
Personally I think this might be a bit of a relaxed description in today's frantic society. I believe that life is far more like a yo-yo in the hands of a champion yo-yo master. Does that sound childish?
Have you ever seen a champion yo-yo master before?
Think of a rollercoaster tied on a piece of string travelling three times as fast and not limited by the direction of the track in front of it. Unlike with a rollercoaster there is no end of the road. There is no potential foresight of where you might be taken to next. There is only the hand of the master, who alone has the power to decide which direction the yo-yo will be flung in next, or when the perpetual motion will finally cease.
After hunting for a room to stay in for over 4 weeks, I thought I had finally found somewhere. A room in Bruntsfield, the area where I was hoping to live, with reasonable rent, fantastic flatmates and a beautiful room with all I could need. As I was greeted by two smiling faces at the open door, I knew that this was a place I could live.
Everything went well. And apparently I wasn't the only one who thought so - I was humbled by an acceptance the next day from the two current tennants. They would love to have me! We would meet again on Thursday night to discuss the finer points of my moving in and, I hoped, to find out a little more about each other.
But come Thursday afternoon I was surprised by an email - my blog had been found after a quick search of my name. I was initially flattered. Someone had been reading my blog, someone I didn't even know!
But then came the crushing news. My blog revealed an airiness in my plans, and caused some hesitation on behalf of my soon-to-be roommates. They needed committment. They were afraid that I couldn't offer that.
I won't pretend I wasn't surprised. Of all the things in my life, I never thought that this blog, this very blog that you are reading, would get me in any amount of strife. In fact, I hoped it would do the opposite (although they did mention that they enjoyed reading it, and for that I thank you).
But as the door closed on my vision of a beautiful Bruntsfield flat with fabulous flatmates, I completely understood their concerns. This was nothing personal, we were all just victims of unbelievable chance. Put in the same position myself, I would definitely need some convincing to take a different course of action.
The very next morning, feeling a little down at the bottom end of the yo-yo string, I opened the front door of my temporary accommodation to find a smiling neighbour.
"Hi, are you one of the new tennants in this flat?"
"Oh, um, not really. I'm just staying while I search for a room of my own. I'm just heading out to work."
"That's ok, I was just dropping by to say hi, welcome to the building... but you say you're looking for a room?"
"Yeah, hopefully somewhere closeby, I really like the area."
"I have a room."
"You have a room?"
"I have a room... Come, take a look. I'm looking for someone for about two or three months just to help cover a bit of the rental cost. Its a beautiful room."
As she pushed open the door to an enormous double room with a gorgeous bay window, elegant old furniture and a wonderful, positive vibe I knew that as quickly as one door had closed another one had opened literally just downstairs.
I move in this weekend.
I wonder... in which direction will I be thrown next?
Personally I think this might be a bit of a relaxed description in today's frantic society. I believe that life is far more like a yo-yo in the hands of a champion yo-yo master. Does that sound childish?
Have you ever seen a champion yo-yo master before?
Think of a rollercoaster tied on a piece of string travelling three times as fast and not limited by the direction of the track in front of it. Unlike with a rollercoaster there is no end of the road. There is no potential foresight of where you might be taken to next. There is only the hand of the master, who alone has the power to decide which direction the yo-yo will be flung in next, or when the perpetual motion will finally cease.
After hunting for a room to stay in for over 4 weeks, I thought I had finally found somewhere. A room in Bruntsfield, the area where I was hoping to live, with reasonable rent, fantastic flatmates and a beautiful room with all I could need. As I was greeted by two smiling faces at the open door, I knew that this was a place I could live.
Everything went well. And apparently I wasn't the only one who thought so - I was humbled by an acceptance the next day from the two current tennants. They would love to have me! We would meet again on Thursday night to discuss the finer points of my moving in and, I hoped, to find out a little more about each other.
But come Thursday afternoon I was surprised by an email - my blog had been found after a quick search of my name. I was initially flattered. Someone had been reading my blog, someone I didn't even know!
But then came the crushing news. My blog revealed an airiness in my plans, and caused some hesitation on behalf of my soon-to-be roommates. They needed committment. They were afraid that I couldn't offer that.
I won't pretend I wasn't surprised. Of all the things in my life, I never thought that this blog, this very blog that you are reading, would get me in any amount of strife. In fact, I hoped it would do the opposite (although they did mention that they enjoyed reading it, and for that I thank you).
But as the door closed on my vision of a beautiful Bruntsfield flat with fabulous flatmates, I completely understood their concerns. This was nothing personal, we were all just victims of unbelievable chance. Put in the same position myself, I would definitely need some convincing to take a different course of action.
The very next morning, feeling a little down at the bottom end of the yo-yo string, I opened the front door of my temporary accommodation to find a smiling neighbour.
"Hi, are you one of the new tennants in this flat?"
"Oh, um, not really. I'm just staying while I search for a room of my own. I'm just heading out to work."
"That's ok, I was just dropping by to say hi, welcome to the building... but you say you're looking for a room?"
"Yeah, hopefully somewhere closeby, I really like the area."
"I have a room."
"You have a room?"
"I have a room... Come, take a look. I'm looking for someone for about two or three months just to help cover a bit of the rental cost. Its a beautiful room."
As she pushed open the door to an enormous double room with a gorgeous bay window, elegant old furniture and a wonderful, positive vibe I knew that as quickly as one door had closed another one had opened literally just downstairs.
I move in this weekend.
I wonder... in which direction will I be thrown next?
Friday, September 19, 2008
When its time to party we always party hard
I have rather fond memories of my 21st - definitely a highlight of 2007.
I will admit that I did my fair share of complaining in the time leading up to the party. I consented to a party, yes. But my idea of a party was vastly different from my parents. I envisaged a barbeque in the park with my closest friends and family, a football, an old portable stereo, and maybe a balloon or two and some children's party games.
What eventuated was (what most thought to be) a rather grandscale event. Set in a beautiful (permanent) marquee in a park, complete with crisp white table clothes and shining silver cutlery, my birthday turned into a wedding without a bride. Despite my protests, I was the fortunate recipient of (what I thought to be) a lavish celebration of my 21 years. In fact, it was so brilliant that I happily conceded to being spoiled, and revelled in all the attention.
This weekend past I learned the true meaning of extravagance.
Over 340 guests were ushered into a reception marquee to begin the evening. Served champagne and canapes, they were gently serenaded by a crooner's drifting voice set to a baby grand piano, a double bass, and the trickling of a multi-leveled fountain which had been constructed on the tent's carpeted floors. Everyone was dressed magnificently, conversing vibrantly and preparing for what was to be a spectacular evening.
Urged into the adjoining dining hall marquee, guests were seated at tables featuring elegant centrepieces of flowers and candles, table cloths to the floor and cutlery arranged perfectly. We served their three courses promptly from the temporary kitchen assembled in yet another marquee next door, and kept their wine glasses brimming with wonderful whites and rather rich reds.
Dessert was followed by a choreographed display of fireworks, set to a 16 minute soundtrack, all set up within the grounds of the estate which was playing host to this splendid soiree. Whilst guests enjoyed the show outside, preparations were underway inside - tea and coffee was served in the dining area, whilst the partitions between the dining and reception area were removed to reveal an amazing transformation. The reception tent was now a cocktail lounge.
An additional area was opened up with a tiled dancefloor, complete with LED fairy lights embedded in the floor, and a stage at the rear hosting a 15 piece big band. This nightclub-like scene extended into a more relaxed space with lounges, bar tables and stools, colourful lighting and mysterious dark corners. Set right at the rear of the room was a bar offering a menu of beer, wine, cocktails and spirits, where we were kept busy with guests waiting three people thick to be served drinks and keep the festivities alive.
The big band may have finished belting out their big tunes around midnight, but the DJ was more than adequate at keeping partygoers on the dancefloor or crowding the bar for refreshments.
Bacon rolls were served at 2am, fueling the fun and prompting renewed waves of energy from once-tiring guests. Drinks continued to flow until well after 4am, whilst the dining hall was quietly packed away unbeknownst to any revellers.
Come 5am our bus arrived to take us home. Weaving our way through a still-jumping nightclub, past weary bodies sprawled over lush white lounges, we made it out into the fresh morning air, away from the thump of the drum 'n' bass that was relentlessly pounding away inside.
All this for a 21st.
Conservative estimates have priced this party somewhere between 200 and 250,000 pounds. Half a million Australian dollars.
For those of you still chuckling at the grandeur of my 21st, may I at least point out that I didn't have a fountain.
I will admit that I did my fair share of complaining in the time leading up to the party. I consented to a party, yes. But my idea of a party was vastly different from my parents. I envisaged a barbeque in the park with my closest friends and family, a football, an old portable stereo, and maybe a balloon or two and some children's party games.
What eventuated was (what most thought to be) a rather grandscale event. Set in a beautiful (permanent) marquee in a park, complete with crisp white table clothes and shining silver cutlery, my birthday turned into a wedding without a bride. Despite my protests, I was the fortunate recipient of (what I thought to be) a lavish celebration of my 21 years. In fact, it was so brilliant that I happily conceded to being spoiled, and revelled in all the attention.
This weekend past I learned the true meaning of extravagance.
Over 340 guests were ushered into a reception marquee to begin the evening. Served champagne and canapes, they were gently serenaded by a crooner's drifting voice set to a baby grand piano, a double bass, and the trickling of a multi-leveled fountain which had been constructed on the tent's carpeted floors. Everyone was dressed magnificently, conversing vibrantly and preparing for what was to be a spectacular evening.
Urged into the adjoining dining hall marquee, guests were seated at tables featuring elegant centrepieces of flowers and candles, table cloths to the floor and cutlery arranged perfectly. We served their three courses promptly from the temporary kitchen assembled in yet another marquee next door, and kept their wine glasses brimming with wonderful whites and rather rich reds.
Dessert was followed by a choreographed display of fireworks, set to a 16 minute soundtrack, all set up within the grounds of the estate which was playing host to this splendid soiree. Whilst guests enjoyed the show outside, preparations were underway inside - tea and coffee was served in the dining area, whilst the partitions between the dining and reception area were removed to reveal an amazing transformation. The reception tent was now a cocktail lounge.
An additional area was opened up with a tiled dancefloor, complete with LED fairy lights embedded in the floor, and a stage at the rear hosting a 15 piece big band. This nightclub-like scene extended into a more relaxed space with lounges, bar tables and stools, colourful lighting and mysterious dark corners. Set right at the rear of the room was a bar offering a menu of beer, wine, cocktails and spirits, where we were kept busy with guests waiting three people thick to be served drinks and keep the festivities alive.
The big band may have finished belting out their big tunes around midnight, but the DJ was more than adequate at keeping partygoers on the dancefloor or crowding the bar for refreshments.
Bacon rolls were served at 2am, fueling the fun and prompting renewed waves of energy from once-tiring guests. Drinks continued to flow until well after 4am, whilst the dining hall was quietly packed away unbeknownst to any revellers.
Come 5am our bus arrived to take us home. Weaving our way through a still-jumping nightclub, past weary bodies sprawled over lush white lounges, we made it out into the fresh morning air, away from the thump of the drum 'n' bass that was relentlessly pounding away inside.
All this for a 21st.
Conservative estimates have priced this party somewhere between 200 and 250,000 pounds. Half a million Australian dollars.
For those of you still chuckling at the grandeur of my 21st, may I at least point out that I didn't have a fountain.
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