A back, a pack and a dream

I was waiting for it to kick in. A double dump of discharge delight and backpacking bliss. It happened the moment I clicked the lock shut on the shed door. With the worldly possessions I didn’t need firmly secured and all the worldly possessions I required contained in a pack, I felt as free as a bird. As free as a bird with 20 kilos on its back can be.

Having spent the last four nights on the block I woke yesterday with plan of attack. From the friendly ladies at the local bakery I was told it reached as low as 2 degrees celcius. So the sting in my nostrils that woke me during the night was a true indicator. While my brain was registering the sensation in my nostrils my eyes were sending their own message. The moon must have set, exiting stage left, allowing the stars to, well, shine. The scene was enough to cause me to emit an involuntary and audible ‘fuck.’

The next major population centre north of Stanthorpe is Warwick. After breakfast in town I started the half hour drive there. Warwick has twice as many residents as Stanthorpe. It rode to early prominence on the sheep’s back. The district is the birth place of Jackie Howe, recording breaking sheep shearer and dapper singlet wearing man about town. The burghers of the town decided to flaunt the wealth of the settlement and erected sandstone buildings befitting the growing status of the shire.It is a pleasant place.

Back in Stanthorpe I booked a taxi to collect me from the storage sheds. I washed the ute and prepared it for a long rest. It was symbolic to wash any remaining salt from the vehicle, a cleansing that provided a close to the chapter that had been open for six years and the beginning of the next.

It was arresting to see only a backpack lying there. When I think of the head long rush many people are under to insulate their lives with things and the contrast of how little we really need to sustain us, I felt good to be on the side of less is more.

The lock clicked shut and there I was….a back, a pack and a dream.

To the Manor Born

 

I spent last night on the block and I'm happy to report the weather was kind. It was not a Bear Grylls moment. If it were possible to halt my gaze abruptly 50 meters fore, 150 meters aft and 50 meters either side from this photo I would be Lord of all I surveyed.

On the evening I arrived in Stanthorpe it was raining so I opted for a room at a Pub in the main street. Camping is wonderful but its results are not conducive to 'normal' human interaction. I still had some tasks to complete in town so presenting myself to the good people of Stanthorpe ripe and unwashed would not be the first impression I was hoping to make.

I’ve secured and paid for the storage shed. Upgraded one of my key cards to one that contains a chip. I read that many ATMs will now not accept a non chipped card. With this addition I am confident I have all cash access bases covered for the trip. Went for a short walk in Girraween National Park. I wasn’t aware of the extent of the features in the Park. Serendipitous. Took a whistle stop tour of the wineries south of Stanthorpe and figuratively drank in the place.

Yesterday morning I sat at outdoor table of a bakery in the main street enjoying a coffee. People in Stanthorpe drive slowly, walk slowly and talk slowly. It is as if someone has hit the slow motion button and it suits me to a tee. The powers that be have made a reasonable attempt but the large footpaths of the main street require beautification. The business owners should take the lead.

It is encouraging to note the number of backpackers in town. There must be scope for another establishment to cater for them. This will be my focus on return.

Camping on the block did reveal just what a task it will be to transform it to my vision, a task I will relish. 

Kindness to Strangers

In every major city, to a lesser or greater extent depending on welfare provisions, beggars populate street corners and Sydney is no exception. Some entrepreneurs attempt to increase their takings by displaying signs. The signs vary from stating the obvious about their predicament to what they intend to use the money for. Some try humour, some try honesty, some barely have the capacity to remain upright and this was the state of the beggar I passed on George Street this evening.

I have become hardened to their plight over time. In my adolescence I was sympathetic. When I had a greater understanding of the welfare provisions I became less sympathetic to their homelessness but more understanding of the choices that put them in this state. When I experienced it for myself, I understood that no amount of help would change their situation if they weren’t willing to help themselves.

I have come to the point where now my engagement does not go beyond a smile in passing. So it was with this mindset that I passed the guy who was sitting cross legged and only a short distance from head butting the pavement. As I approached, a lady coming in the opposite direction stirred him from his state and handed him an apple and a piece of banana bread.

He was grateful and she seemed happy as she walked on. It was so simple in its execution that the ripple effect cracked my hardened heart. A terrible cynic would say she was only acting to make herself feel good. Even if this was the only motivation, so what.

All this washed over me after I had walked about ten paces past the scene and it literally stopped me in my tracks. I turned to look at him and he was taking the first bite of the apple. I looked at her as she waited to cross the street and I felt like walking to her to say thank you but initially I didn't know what I would be thanking her for. As I hesitated the walk signal turned green and the moment was lost.

If I saw her now I would thank her for an act of kindness that has caused me to reflect on my own behaviour and some good will come of that.

To Keep the Rabbits Out

Another iconic structure has failed to keep the rabbits out. Rabbits are taking over Sydney.

Raise a foot to the Havaiana.

I am loathe to follow a trend. For an item to gain my imprimatur it usually has to stand the test of time. An exception to this is if an item's innate qualities transcend the pack mentality of popularity, if it can stand on its own two feet, then sign me up.

I was waiting for a hamburger I had ordered from a Take Away last night when through my daydream I noticed a lot of Havaianas. Five out of six of us were wearing them and we were spread among the major demographics.

I have lived through the time when the 'double plugger' was the only choice in air conditioned footwear. Most commonly associated with stubbies shorts, jackie howe (wife beater) singlet or flannelette shirts when cooler weather arrived. For footwear, it was carrying major baggage.

Not only has the Havi broken the image problem the thong had, they are pret-a-porter. Double pluggers had to be broken in. The unforgiving rubber required a commitment commensurate with the wearers gut, i.e. big, to see them through to any level close to comfort. To top off the coup, those good people at Havaiana allow us to pay four times what the plugger cost and we are happy to do it, they are walking out the door.

From a footwear triumph to footwear tragedy. 

I can share a wry grin when witnessing a female in the wee hours of the morning barefoot with shoes in hand, a victim of fashion. Usually the shoes have seen out significant dance floor action and the feet are rebelling or one too many has caused sleek stilettos to become wobbly boots. All par for the course.

On a recent drive through the city there was a procession of young ladies with shoes in hand, walking from the cross to the city and the night was still young. Whoever is setting these trends must delight in cruel and unusual punishment. Long live capitalism !