Fish and chips

Here's the first attempt at backtracking to some of our Seattle discoveries over the summer. This beach is a recent find - less than ten minutes' drive from home. Our neighbourhood is a lakeside one and that means we have a plenty of waterside places to hang at, not far away.

This particular spot is on a northern stretch of Lake Washington, and has a lengthy jetty walk that loops out from the beach at one end, and all the way to the other side of the beach. A nearby sign claims that to walk it 2.5 times would be equal to a mile, and the water between the jetty and the beach remains incredibly shallow for most of it - Miss Pie can walk out more than halfway, and still only be waist deep. That, and the playground, makes this spot perfect for small kids.

Last night marked our final Friday evening of the summer holidays and it was 27ºC, so after I picked up J from work, we made out way to this beach in time to grab the last rays of sun.

The sun is setting earlier these days, and as soon as the shade took over, the girls' lips began turning blue. After a speedy change from swimwear to dry clothes, J took them for a walk along the jetty as I went across the road to grab some fish and chips for dinner.

A strange thing happened on that quick mission for dinner. You see, we haven't had fish and chips at all while we've lived in the US. Not once. There simply weren't any places in our old neighbourhood in L.A. and I suppose we didn't really hang out at the beaches, so this was the first for us in years.

If you're Australian and reading this, you'll understand what a staple it is to have fish and chips, especially after a visit to the beach. Hell, I grew up a good hour away from the nearest beach and we still had fish and chips takeaway at least once a month for dinner - and it was always a treat.

As I set foot into this fish and chips (fries, for you American readers) joint last night, the familiar smell of oil and vinegar stung my nostrils straight away - in a good way. It smelled... comforting. I turned and looked out the window as I waited and was struck by the similarities of the scenery. The frosted pale blue water of dusk, the pink sky, and the silhouettes of pine trees dotted along the beach's park - not unlike the Norfolk pines that are a regular feature of so many of the beaches dotted along the coastline around Sydney.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was back in Australia. Bizarre.

When the order was cooked, I watched as a young guy wrapped it into a papered bundle. Then I stepped out into the fresh air and made my way back to the beach. Along the way, I couldn't help but raise the warm package to my nose, inhaling this smell from my childhood. People who saw me must have thought I was a little mad.

It was one of those evenings when your senses are alive, and it feels good to be alive. Gentle beaches, warmth, ducks, sunsets, fish and chips.

Hard to beat.

(Oh, and those fish and chips? They didn't disappoint, and I'm already thinking of an excuse to go back soon...)

PS - I'm working on breaking my lazy habit of iPhone only shots. These were all taken on the 'fancy' camera over the course of several visits to the same beach. It's been fun to pick up the heavy camera again.

Last of L.A. (Part 2)

(Continued from last week)

Below is from our final week in Los Angeles.

Enjoying the green of a park with some friends, not realising just how much

 greenery and wild flowers we'd be surrounded by in Seattle.

Last chance for my beloved guava cream cheese pastries (far left,

centre shelf) and potato balls from Porto's.

Dinner with girlfriends in Hollywood.

Last chance for our favourite ice cream.

Last Saturday evening in L.A.

Farewell hangout with friends in the beer garden of this

local brewery, full moon rising.

Waiting for the moving company's packers to show up.

First of two nights in a hotel down the road.

Last playdate in our local park.

Tired + refused ice cream = meltdown

Apartment finally empty + stinking hot day = swim at hotel

With the kids in bed, J sent me upstairs for a cocktail.

The bar was on the 19th floor, and had this view of our neighbourhood.

Bliss.

There was also a view of downtown L.A.

Last sunset in L.A.

At Burbank Airport, en route to Seattle.

Last of L.A. (Part 1)

Almost two months later, I have finally forced myself to sit down and go through my gazillion photos from our last couple of weeks in Los Angeles (all taken back in June).

Despite the hectic-ness (not really a word - I know - but I'm stuck) of that time, it was wonderful. There's nothing like knowing it's the last chance you'll get to do certain things; spend time with those who matter most. I did my best to cram as much in as possible. Sunshine, playgrounds, sightseeing, hanging at friends' homes, sunshine, swimming, visits to favourite ice cream stores, favourite restaurants, ladies' nights out, more sunshine, more gatherings... you get the idea.

I don't think I've got the words to ever do justice to those few weeks, so I'm going to stick with just photos. I sat down to pull out my favourite shots and when I was done, I realised there were far too many to put into one post. No matter how I try, I can't distill the essence down to just a dozen photos.

So. Here is Part One of an epic couple of weeks.

Playdate at a friend's house.

Announcing the ice cream truck outside a friend's house, 

in case we hadn't noticed.

Her last day of school.

Swimming break for ice cream at our local Baskin Robbins,

also near our local supermarket (reflected).

In a buddy's playhouse. 

Eastbound home as the sun was setting.

In those months of solo parenting, I was never able to catch a proper sunset.

A rear view in the mirror was as good as it got.

A pedicure treat for the Faery and I during Miss Pie's 

last day of preschool.

A failed attempt at culling the soft toy pile,

in preparation for packing and moving.

A last ice cream date with a good little buddy.

Cooling off in the pool at our apartment complex.

In the grand old lobby of L.A.'s Union Station.

The Million Dollar Theater, downtown L.A.

(featured in Blade Runner, and The Artist)

Shiny downtown L.A.

I have a thing for old fire escapes (downtown L.A.)

Angels Flight funicular, downtown L.A.

Stay tuned for Part Two.

Leaving California

We haven't even left Los Angeles yet, but I can feel the nostalgia creeping in already. What am I going to miss most? I have a fairly good idea.

Blue skies and mild winters
Well, that's an obvious one, right? Sure, sunshine day after day after day can sometimes get boring but overall, I'm a sunshine kinda girl. I need it in the way cats do and I'll admit it, I am a total wimp when it comes to being cold. I've loved that during winter, the morning school runs were never too horrendous - that is going to be an interesting learning curve in Seattle.

Verdugo Mountains
These are the mountains closest to us - and by 'close', I mean they are practically on our doorstep. We live right at the foot of them, and they are an amazing piece of landscape to see every day. Shrouded in fog in the mornings, misty swirls poking in and out of crevices. In the evenings, golden pink light radiates off the western facing surfaces. Okay, so they're not huge, and they don't get snow, but they feel like mine. I know we are going to have access to brilliantly snowy mountains when we're living in Seattle, but the Cascades are more distantly on the horizon and - during my few visits there - seem to be completely hidden by the clouds. I may be in for a shock, though, as I know that Mt Rainier almost levitates over the horizon... maybe the rest of the Cascades are impressive from a distance too. However, the mountains here that I have gazed at daily for the last three years have left somewhat of an imprint on me (but I can imagine Pacific Northwesterners reading this, shaking their heads, and saying to themselves "now that's not a mountain... THIS is a mountain" as they look out their window).

Porto's
Two words: Cuban, bakery. They are a local joint, and I'm told people will drive from two hours away to get their hands on some refugiados (guava cream cheese pastries) and potato balls (think spicy deep-fried balls of cottage pie). I only need to drive five minutes, and not only do they have some unique treats I've never had elsewhere, but their basic bakery fare - croissants and other pastries, cookies, bread, decadent cakes - are always super fresh and never disappoint.

In-N-Out Burgers
I'm generally not that big on fast-food chains, but In-N-Out make their burgers with fresh ingredients, on the spot - nothing processed. If you want fast but tastylicious, this is the place you want. Between you and me, I'm a little gutted that I won't be able to indulge in their burgers in Seattle.

Paradis Ice Cream
I don't go gaga for ice cream like most people I know. I've had a little obsession with Ben & Jerry's over the years but never really branched out and tried other brands of ice cream. Then a year ago, some friends introduced me to a little ice cream store about fifteen minutes away from us... and they have completely and utterly replaced my love for Ben & Jerry's. Paradis is a Danish company that - randomly - has a couple of stores in L.A. as well. I don't normally buy into the hype for organic or whatever, but their ice cream is organic and is THE SHIZZ. They make fresh batches on site every day. Their strawberry flavour actually tastes like nothing other than crushed strawberries. They make stracciatella instead of choc chip (très European, non?), their salted caramel is divine, and their mint/lime sorbet tastes like mojitos. Seriously. Just writing this, I'm mentally calculating when I can squeeze in another trip to Paradis before we leave.

The Latino vibe
So many Mexican stores - big and little - with fabulous food to buy, such as carne asada, stacks of freshly made tortillas (none of that Old El Paso crap), and soft drinks all sweetened with lovely cane sugar - as opposed to the awful corn syrup used in American drinks. I love hearing the beautiful Hispanic accents of so many Los Angelenos, and seeing the Spanish shop-front signs. And of course, the places to feast, Mexican-style.

Friends
This is the hardest one. Food love affairs are replaceable but great friends? Not so much. The first year in L.A. was a bit isolating but once the Faery began school, I very quickly hit it off with a number of wonderful like-minded parents - warm, welcoming people who we began socialising with outside of school hours. Great for the Faery, and great for us. I'm going to miss them... a lot.

*   *   *

And so the countdown is on. The removalists (or "movers" in American-speak) are booked for less than two weeks from now. There'll be a brief hotel stay here while we tie up loose ends, then we'll fly up. I'm incredibly grateful that the relocation package includes packing - this frees up much more time for me to focus on other move-related matters. I still need to clear out more junk, file a year's worth of paperwork since our last move, and sort out various (overdue) errands and appointments... all whilst trying to fit in maximum playdates and get-togethers with friends, so we can make the most of this time left in L.A. Most of this, I will be doing solo and so am summoning my superhero powers from wherever the hell it is that they reside.

This means I need to give the world of blogging a bit of a break, probably until we're in Seattle - which is scarily not far off. As it is, I've been composing a number of posts in my head over the past few weeks but by the time evenings hit, my slacker arse has been incapable of sitting at a computer to type. It's been a struggle, but since I had the realisation the other night that it's okay to go a few weeks without looking at this blog, I've felt lighter. One less task to find time for.

For now though, I can't leave without acknowledging....

Los Angeles? It has been a pleasure knowing you.

Memory lane

When my tank's a bit low and I feel like I should write, but have nothing interesting to say, it's always a good time to hit up Mama Kat's writing prompts. This week's options had one prompt that jumped out at me immediately.

"List your top 10 favourite things about summer growing up" 


(Sorry, Mama Kat. I had to spell favourite the way I've been conditioned to... it's nothing personal)

(Photo source)

1. Frangipanis

Walking along streets, trying my best not to step on or squash the fallen ones which covered the footpaths (impossible!). Gathering. Inhaling. Pinning in my hair. Frequently.

They are still one of my favourite flowers and I miss them. Surprisingly (because the LA climate is ideal), I just don't see them in the gardens around here. I need to make it my mission to find a little tree in a nursery somewhere, and regain a little frangipani magic.

2. Water play

What Australian childhood was complete without time spent frolicking under the sprinkler, with cool wet grass beneath feet? Growing up, our home didn't have a pool. Our neighbours did - and many hot days were spent at their place - but when they weren't home, our sprinkler came out. It makes me a little sad that because of water shortages (understandably), many kids these days don't know this simple joy.

Another favourite activity was wetting the trampoline then bouncing and sliding all over it. This was back in the days when trampolines weren't padded to within an inch of their life, and the springs were completely exposed. Usually, there were at least three kids piled on for this slippery fun, because this trampoline in question also belonged to our neighbours... along with a shed/cubby house, swing set, air-conditioned rumpus room, spare bicycles, roller skates, hula hoops, and a Commodore 64. We owned none of those things. I don't really need to mention that my parents saw little of me during school holidays, do I?

3. Icy confectionary

Streets Banana Paddle Pops. Tearing the wrapper open at one end, and blowing inside first to help the paper lift off. I remember when they were about 30c, and I'd convince my mother to buy me one as an extra treat instead of a 15c lemonade Wiz (although I loved those too). I shudder to think how much they cost today today.

4. Thunderstorms

My fear of loud thunder was something I got over at a pretty early age. In place, I grew to love the approaching rumbles of thunder in the distance, my excitement matching the frequency and intensity of the storm as it got closer... or disappointed if it never passed directly overhead. I loved the electricity in the air, and the sense of everything being right on edge. It was permission to enjoy a little (perceived) danger.

There seemed to be a lot more storms when I was a kid, but I think that's because of an uninterrupted childhood in Sydney - since then, my adult years have been spent in a number of other cities which sadly lack thunderstorms as a meteorological feature. Sydney... I can always count on Sydney to put on a good show at the end of a static, humid summer day.

5. Cheese & pickled onion sandwiches

Bliss. I am somewhat of a seasonal eater - there are foods that I tend to only crave or think of during certain seasons. My father passed on his love of these sandwiches to me when I was young, and to this day, nothing screams Summertime! to me more than cheese and pickled onion sandwiches. Even better, when accompanied by....

6. Schweppes beverages

Specifically, lemon cordial or lemonade. Cold, with tiny drops of condensation running down the glass. My dear grandmother always had a bottle of lemon cordial in her pantry, and the blue-labelled lemonade in her fridge. In those days, they were a treat for me, but she always let me have as much as I wanted. As an adult, those drinks have been staples in my own kitchen during summer... so you can guess how excited I was recently when I found cans of Schweppes lemonade in a nearby Indian grocer's. I bought one, and sipping at it was a lovely link to my Aussie summers.

7. Extended holiday visits

Each school break, I usually went and stayed with my grandmother for a few days. She was widowed and only lived twenty minutes away, but it always felt like a little holiday. Summer holidays were the best because sometimes I stayed a week or two, and was spoiled rotten. Instead of being lost amongst the chaos of four kids (I'm the eldest), I relished the attention from her, and she spoiled me rotten. Trips to her local shops always saw us running into her friends, and she would show me off proudly to them. I felt special when I was with her.

8. Endless reading

I was never a particularly active kid. Many a day, my mother would throw her hands in the air and ask why I didn't want to be playing outside - especially on such a lovely day? I was much happier curling up with a book. 

9. Cicadas

The deafening song of cicadas will always be the soundtrack to my childhood summers. Even better, they were probably the only insect that didn't send me running and screaming if I encountered one. In fact, I was able to pick them up without any drama. There are no other insects I can say that about.

10. Not feeling the heat

Was it just me? I don't recall ever feeling aware of being hot and uncomfortable - except at night on the absolute hottest days, when I couldn't sleep. Summer was my favourite time of year. The older I get now, the more I seem to feel the heat (and suffer) so have sadly begun to prefer spring. It feels somewhat traitorous to the ten-year-old me.

*  *  *

There are some great things on this list, and I would be so happy if my girls have similar memories or associations one day. At the very least, their internal archives for life in LA should also provide distinctive memories. It will be interesting to chat with them in twenty years' time about their own childhood summers.

(Click here for link)

My life in review

Being December, most people look back over the past year and reflect. Good? Bad? Bring on the New Year? Be sad to see this one go?

All the magazines use this time of year as the perfect excuse to rehash photos and news stories. Revel once again in the scandals, ogle even more over celebrity transformations.

Last December, I found myself looking back a bit further than just the year, when I found myself scanning my favourite old travel photos.

This week has seen a similar trip down memory lane, courtesy of Facebook. You see, I decided to take a leap and embrace the new timeline format on my profile page. I figured I might as well, if it was going to be forced on us eventually. Plus, it does look rather fetching with the nice large cover photos.

A nifty new feature of the timeline format is that the dates on photos can be changed. This appealed - immensely - to the OCD part of my brain that likes to categorise things into proper chronological sequence. Rather than languishing in a December 2010 album, those travel photos that I'd scanned a year ago are now nicely dispersed along my timeline, neatly prettying up the years from 1999-2003.

Once I'd started, I couldn't stop. I found other old photos that I'd been tagged in over the years, even pics from the mid-2000s (before everyone was on Facebook) that had been added in retrospect. I had to change those dates, too.

Before I knew it, every year from 1999 onwards had been documented on my timeline, along with a few random school photos from the mid-late 80s and early 90s.

Looking at it all, I felt the need to start hiding some of the 'stories' from the timeline. Even though the stories were nothing new, and photos were ones that had always been available in albums for friends to view, it seemed like an overshare and needed culling.

There are the options of adding 'life events' to the timeline, and there are several categories, each broken into further suggestions. I'm sure it's only natural that people will want to add in special times such as graduations, weddings, births of kids... and that's where I draw the line for myself. Facebook has categories such as: New Roommate, New Vehicle, New Eating Habit, Broken Bone, Quit a Habit, Tattoos, Piercings, First Kiss... you get the picture.

Why not just add farts and nose picking to the timeline? Surely everyone wants to know that too?

Maybe it's just me. While I love looking at other friends' photos (I do!) I have very little interest in so many of the potential life events that some other people will no doubt be including on their timeline. I just don't care, and in that same vein, I don't imagine that my friends will be looking at my timeline and annoyed with me for not documenting my various body piercings and drunken antics.

Now that I have my timeline updated and looking pretty, something strange has seeped into the nostalgia factor. It's more than nostalgic. Seeing one's life spread out into neatly compartmentalised categories for others to view, it almost feels like preparation for an obituary. Born in -, graduated in -, married in -, X number of children, worked at -, travelled to -.

Packaged up, ready to go... how convenient.

I'm going to keep the photos on the timeline - because now that I've been thinking about it, the morbid part of my brain thinks what if? If something suddenly happened to me, and I was no longer around, my blog and my Facebook account would probably be the most easily accessible part of me that my daughters may want to access one day. It may be the best way for them to get a sense of my life when I was younger.

Hopefully, it won't come to that. We just never know, though.

Where I'm From

I am from fruit cordial, from Weet-bix and sunburnt holidays at a dolphin-friendly bay.

I am from a fibro bungalow, lavender-light walls on a street named for love, heavenly jasmine punching the air in evening September showers. 

I am from eucalyptus, tall and strong; from orange blossom and frangipani blooming in the backyard, competing side by side.

I am from rummy and stubbornness, from Chris and Jenny, and the best grandmother of all.

I am from memorised repeats of Fawlty Towers, and secretive books tucked under pillows .

From 'you're too honest for your own good' and 'you can be whatever you want.'

I am from no place of worship, with a fierce sense of right and wrong.

I’m from Sydney and Northern Europe, meals devoid of ethnicity, and passionfruit-drizzled pavlova.

From young newly-wed parents, the remarried grandfather who refused to know me, and the widowed grandma who loved me times a million.

I am from yellowing round-cornered photos on sticky-lined pages, contained within crinkling plastic;  glossy black '70s vinyl LPs, encased in worn sleeves from another era; stories buried in chests, their keys discarded, the things that are unsaid yet somehow defining.

Mama's Losin' It

This piece was motivated by my lovely friend Angie's post at The Little Mumma. She had been inspired by this writing prompt over at Mama's Losin' It. 

Welcome back

Her music has been a spectacular backdrop to many significant occasions in my life.

Each album holds its own piece of magic in my heart, and is associated with times of growth - making the transition from girl to woman; learning abut myself as a university student; forging friendships with people I'll love forever, over bottles of red wine (you know who you are); giving my Discman a heavy workout on red double decker buses, the London Underground, Melbourne trams and Sydney trains.

Her music is warm and burns with intensity. Sometimes it crackles, sometimes it roars. Listening to her voice, her words, and her music is like having a large fireplace, glowing and bright, in a corner of my soul. Her more mellow tracks warm my insides like a smooth wine; the raw songs burn on the way down, like rocket fuelled whiskey.

She's an enigma to me, and I'll never forget the evening I saw her perform live: An unusually balmy night in Melbourne. The beautiful Forum Theatre. A small figure in a one-shouldered red dress and red cowgirl boots. A guitar trapped to her. A huge voice. Tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat. It had been one of the most stressful weeks in my life and I was alone, but for a few hours, I floated.

Years later, when J and I were deciding on a middle name for Miss Pie, we realised she would have the same initials as this amazing artist. It was a total coincidence, but a happy one. Little PJ.

This week, PJ Harvey won her second Mercury Prize. No one else has ever done so. When I read that news, I realised I'd been neglectful and needed to hear her latest offering... so that's what I've spent the last few days listening to.

I can already feel it entering that large fireplace in my soul, clearing out the cobwebs, and settling right in.

Welcome back, PJ.

(Photo source)

Golden Oldies

It's taken a while, but I finally get it.

Now I know how care-free it feels to be driving alone, with some favourite music blasting away. In the past, given my lack of driving confidence, I've usually preferred no music when it's me who's driving. Music felt distracting. Also, with two little people in the back of the car - oh, say 98% of the time - things tend to get noisy anyway. On those rare occasions where I'm alone behind the wheel, I've savoured the silence in the car - just me and my thoughts.

Lately, 'just me and my thoughts' don't seem to cut it, though. Last weekend, when I was making an escape for a few hours, I impulsively switched the radio on. Lucky for me, J had it tuned in to a station he'd already discovered and likes - KROQ. Even luckier for me, the station was having a 'Nothing but the 90s' weekend.

Heaven.

It must be a sure sign of ageing - being reduced to fits of bliss when hearing songs from 'way back'. As a kid, I remember how happy my mother would be listening to songs from the 70s, when we were in the car. The Doors aside, I remember thinking how daggy and old those songs were - songs that weren't as old (then) as the songs I found myself belting out to on Sunday.

Oops.

If anyone cares to join me in a trip down memory lane, here are some of the songs from KROQ's playlist that had me smiling like I haven't smiled in a long time:

Ah, sweet youth...

Most of our CDs are boxed into storage back in Australia. Many of our favourite albums are on our iTunes library, but we never got around to putting them all on. I wish we'd been a little more organised in that respect, but hey, the internet is a wonderful thing in the mean time, right?

What songs take you back?

Flying high

Since our little nature outing the other day, and seeing a hawk, there's a song I've had stuck in my head.

I loved it the very first time I heard it, and why wouldn't I? Jim Morrison's vocals were sampled, and an irresistible beat added.

Without fail, this song takes me back to my clubbing days in London - where I first heard it. It was the golden era of Fatboy Slim, and I managed to take in a number of his gigs. He was always happy, and grinning from ear to ear. The best gig I saw was when he played the night after his son was born, and people were passing cigars over to him. A very happy place, and I was there!

So, without further ado, I present - Sunset (Bird of Prey) by Fatboy Slim. The fact that the song has a great anti-war video is a bonus. Or... you could just close your eyes and let the song wash over you.

Bird of prey

Bird of prey

In the summer sky

Flying high

Lucerne

I was just going through some old photos, and came across these ones I took in 

Lucerne, Switzerland, back in the summer of 2000.

I love these images, for how quintessentially Swiss the scenery is.

I mean, if you tried to conjure up a mental picture of a Swiss city, 

you'd come up with something like this, right?

Chocolate box perfection. Sigh.

In the words of the lovely Liz Lemon from 30 Rock:

I want to go to there.

Globetrotting and physical links

My parents have only recently acquired passports, and having grandkids living overseas was a big factor for them. They've never had any real yearn to visit foreign places.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a list - a mile long - of places to see. Some of which are the standard destinations most people dream about, and others a little more exotic.

During my university years, I never doubted that I would head overseas as soon as possible, and a year after graduating, I had enough airfare saved up for a trip to the UK. It wasn't my original destination that I'd begun saving for, but J was keen to try and gain more experience in his chosen field. The UK had the best opportunities for him, so with working holiday visas under our belt, we said our goodbyes to Sydney on a wintery day - and a day later - stepped into a summer heat wave in London.

We had no idea how long we'd stay for. Maybe six months. Maybe a couple of years.

It ended up being nearly five years. In that time, J had managed to get work visa sponsorship, and we got hitched on a wet spring day in London. I worked - briefly - in catering at London Zoo, followed by a lengthy stint in a pub, before doing a little more study and finally moving into English language teaching.

In those five years, I managed to also visit more than twenty countries. Some were amazing, some were not so impressive. Many of these places I visited together with J, but quite a few I travelled around, solo. None were particularly exotic, but I always made sure to get off the beaten track when I could.

Package tours have never appealed to me, so the only time I ever used a travel agent was to purchase my very first flight to London. The rest of my travels were pretty much based on word of mouth and the contents from my beloved Lonely Planets and Rough Guides. While I haven't exactly been trekking through the Himalayas, I never needed anyone to hold my hand either.

I love travel. I love - literally - losing myself in another place. One of my fondest memories is of arriving in Venice, without a map, and deciding to wander around for a few hours before buying one. Hearing old church bells chime as I crossed small bridges, peeked around old cracked corners, gazed down dark green canals and inhaled the smells in the air. Not having a clue where I was. Hearing the hustle and bustle fade within just a few streets off the main tourist drags, and encountering nothing but the sound of trickling water from a fountain in a small, deserted piazza. Did I mention that I love Italy?

I may only have thirty-six hours in San Francisco coming up, but I cannot wait. I want to lose myself again.

For a long time, I wondered where I got my love of travel from. It certainly wasn't anything from my childhood. Then on a visit back to Australia, after I'd been overseas for three or four years, I learned that my grandmother had travelled extensively when she was younger.

I never knew her. Sadly, she died of breast cancer, many years before I was born, and I've only ever seen a handful of black and white photos of her. To learn that she had a love of travel was a wonderful thing to hear.

She worked her way as a nurse around the world, back in the late 1940s and early 1950s, when single women rarely travelled. Australia, Papua New Guinea, Sri Lanka... winding up in England for a while. I now have her stamped, card membership for Hostelling International in the UK - so different from my own plastic card membership.

This yellowing piece of card is precious to me. It's the physical link to a woman I never knew.

I wonder what conversations she and I would have, if she were still alive today. What stories would we exchange and share?

I wonder just how much of her is in me.

Grand Canal, Venice - 2000