Flying out of Darwin

Flying over the Northern Territory during the day is a treat. Grab a window seat and keep your eyes peeled.

Departing Darwin airport, you’ll find that within a minute the city disappears from view and you might catch a glimpse of suburbs stretching out into the rural region. The greenery becomes denser and roads fewer. It doesn’t take long to be clear of all buildings and airplane window is full of brown land all the way to the horizon.

During the dry season there is often a smoke haze from all the burn offs around the place. Sometimes more definite smoke plumes from small, controlled blazes, rise up to the clouds. If you do fly at night time you’ll see pockets of flames licking the earth.

Looking out the window, at first you could be mistaken for thinking there is nothing out there but dry land. Then all of a sudden a long, snaking river pops into view. Trees and shrubs line the rivers banks and patches of green appear. These huge rivers go on for miles, curling and twisting their way from the wetlands and through the centre. They are truly remarkable. Having travelled on boats across those rivers, I know that they are teeming with life, both beautiful and evil. I’ve sometimes wondered how many crocodiles are hidden below the river surface…

Away from the rivers, the ground undulates and patterns are carved into the ground. The reds, browns, yellows and greys subtlety shift with the rise and fall of the land. In stark contrast are the gleaming white salt pans. The size of them is hard to comprehend.

Occasionally you might spot a station or community. More frequently you will see a long straight line of either a road or fence. The sharpness of these man-made lines is at odds with the softer features around them. The ever changing patchwork of colours and patterns move slowly beneath you and just go on forever. It is such a big country and I love it more each time I see it from the air.

Hard work and long hours...

I've been amazed the last week, at the ability of some people to work huge hours, doing dirty, tough work and maintain a smile on their face. It was the V8 Supercar round in Darwin this weekend, and the sheer volume of people working behind the scenes is just incredible. My humble role in the scheme of things was working with another colleague to man the Communications Centre. We maintained eight radio channels and a busy phone line. As well as answering a lot of questions, we logged and relayed jobs out to an army of staff.... plumbers, cleaners, electricians, contractors and maintenance staff. These workers ensured that both the ticket paying public and corporate guests alike, had an enjoyable weekend with no problems. They didn't see the people picking up rubbish, unblocking toilets, refueling vehicles, cleaning up vomit or keeping fans and TV's working. And neither should they. I believe the best events are when you walk in and notice nothing other that what you paid for. They were there to see a good car race and have a drink and a laugh - and that's what they got!

Having worked over 50 intense hours in just three days, you would understand if people had a whinge about sore feet, having to clean another port-a-loo or pack up yet another shade tent. But no, there everyone was at a staff BBQ on Monday lunch on the first day of pack up laughing, smiling and then back working again. These are the unsung hero's of an event like this. Of course the driver's are cheered and the NT Government receives accolades about record crowds, but without the team of behind the scenes staff, it just wouldn't happen. I'm not even sure which V8 driver won... but I do know that we all need to respect the cleaners and maintenance men who keep things ticking over.

Dry season

One of my favourite things about Darwin, is how dragonflies signal to the world, the start of the dry season. At first I didn't understand everyone's excitement about the first sighting of these delicate insects. Now I realise that those few precious weeks in May, where swarms of dragonflies fill the evening sky, signify the end of sticky, humid days. They bring cool, crisp mornings and allow for jumpers and blankets to be pulled out of high cupboards.


At work now, we all cover our shoulders with jackets and cardigans, as the air con still comes through the building chilling us down. I even went so far as to wear opaque black tights today! Our fingers are cold as we type and people have started drinking mugs of hot soup. To go outside, we shrug off our jackets, allowing us to soak up the sun and warm up. It's the reverse of Melbourne or the UK where you wear your coat/jacket to work, step into an overheated office and take it off, putting it back on to step outside.

News headlines in Darwin focused on a 'cold snap' the first time this year the temperature dropped below 20 degrees at night. There were photos of people rugged up in fleeces walking the dog in the morning and talk of turning off the home air con to sleep for the first time since September last year. It's hardly a Melbourne winter, but I am taking full advantage of wearing long tucked away clothes for the next 3-4 months.

Twilight

No, this is not a blog about how much I loved or hated the book, or the movie. Nor my musings on the whole Twilight phenomenon. Or whether I'm team Edward or Jacob.

This is simply a bus story, which I don't think would have happened if I had been reading any other book...

Tucked in a window seat, towards the front of the #10 bus heading home, my head was buried in a book. In my periphery to the left, I noticed some movement. Turning just a little, I saw a man waving frantically at me. I shot him a quick half smile and went back to reading.

More frantic waving ensued, so I turned again. There was a group of indigenous men, dressed in football shirts and miscellaneous t-shirts and singlets. Most were gazing out the window, but this one man continued to gesture towards me and then towards my book with its iconic front cover.

"Do you like this book?" I asked, holding it up for him to see. He grinned at me, pointed at the book and gave me two very enthusiastic thumbs up. Then he covered his ears and mouth with his hands. Only at this point did I realise, he couldn't hear or speak.

In a strange, but beautiful form of sign language, he proceeded to act out Twilight on the bus. He motioned vampire fangs with his fingers, cupped his hands to form a love heart, hugged himself, pulled scary werewolf faces and demonstrated a car crash. I'm sure the other passengers thought we were bonkers, but I wasn't even aware of anyone else on the bus at that point. I copied some of these actions back to show him that I understood, at which he laughed silently and applauded loudly.

His friends pushed the bell for the next stop and pulled him up, to get him off the bus. Before leaving, he reached over for a sincere hand shake which I happily returned. I smiled to myself the rest of the way home. It was one of those moments that couldn't be repeated and even trying to explain it, doesn't do it justice.

Stitches and scars

"You have a cut in your eyebrow too!" Don't you just love the honesty of eight year olds. This beautiful young girl insisted we have a photo pointing at our matching cuts, which run all the way through our right eyebrows.

The truth is I don't have a cut, rather I have two scars, one through and one just above my eyebrow. I look in the mirror ever day and don't notice them... they've been there since I was two and are just part of me. I like my scars. Lucky that I do, because in fact I have 15 sets of stitches criss-crossing my body. I tried to count the actually number of stitches... which is... um... over 80!?


Each of my scars has a story and I love hearing other people's scar stories. We are the fearless, the brave. I pity those people who have lived their lives wrapped up, protected and scar free - what a boring existence! Or is this reckless stance just how I justify my clumsiness.


This post is difficult to type, as I am currently recovering from my latest set of stitches. Playing basketball last week, I split the webbing between my 3rd and 4th fingers and my left hand is bandaged up recovering. Another trip to the emergency ward, another tetnus shot, another battle story.

Still playing basketball...

The other day, an old friend asked me in disbelief 'Are you STILL playing basketball?'. The short answer is 'Yes', but there is a longer answer. There are three main reasons I suffer bumps and bruises, wear ridiculous 2XL shorts and a mouth guard and try to keep up with 17 year olds on a regular basis:

1. It's a great way to make friends.
In the past 10 years, I've lived in 5/8 capital cities in Australia and one major city in England. That's a lot of hello's and goodbye's. Each place I've been, I've joined a basketball team with the assumption that I'll meet at least a couple of people with a common interest, that I'd quite like to be friends with. Now living in Darwin, my current team, Ansett, form the basis of my group of friends here. I love playing, training, hanging out and partying with them. Aged 13-31 (yes, I'm the 31 year old) with different school, work and family backgrounds, we manage to bridge the gap through a shared love of running up and down a 28m basketball court.

2. Competition.

I like to win... whether it's Monopoly, $2 on the Melbourne Cup or a simple bet with a friend about who will be last to work, I always like to win. Most of all, I like to win on the basketball court. Yes, Grand Final victories are amazing and notching up wins during the regular season is terrific, but it's more than that. I challenge myself in different ways each game. Whether it's to hit all my foul shots or make less than two turnovers, I compete with myself. Even though I'm a bit slower and can't jump as high as I used to, I still get a real kick out of the battle and the pressure.

3. So I can eat Sara Lee ice-cream!

There has to be some reward for the sweat and toil - which usually involves food of some description. Cheese, chocolate and ice-cream are on regular rotation as my favourite vices. Most Tuesday nights after either playing or reffing the late game, I sneak home after 11.00pm. My routine is: have a shower, ice my ankles, quietly switch on the TV and prepare some food. Tonight I'm in the mood for blue cheese and crackers, but next week it could be chocolate fudge sauce on ice-cream... hey, I've earned it.

A couple of laps

My goggles fill with chlorinated water, I smash my hand into the lane rope and I swallow someone else's splash instead of air - all in the name of healthy exercise! With my aching Achilles tendon's not coping with my regular load of basketball and athletics, I have turned back to the swimming pool to try and regain some fitness.
Like so many primary age Australian's, I learnt to swim at school. I had the basics in hand, spending many weekends near the beach as a little one, but refined my ability to soak teachers and move through the water during primary school.

In high school, I dreaded house swimming days, but being a tragic sports enthusiast, bluffed my way through. When no one else signed up for Year 11 Butterfly, I flailed my limbs for 50m through the water and came last; but gave it a go and received a huge cheer and valuable house points.

To gain acceptance into my university course, Human Movement at RMIT, I needed to swim 100m in under 2 minutes (along with other sports, fitness and medical tests). I was terrified by the idea of missing out on the course of my dreams due to poor swimming, so got my Mum to come and time me at the local pool in Hawthorn. I had a few 'training sessions' and got through the test in about 1:50. Phew!

Then, whilst completing the compulsory 1st year subject of 'Aquatics' I gained my Bronze Medallion and went on outside uni to gain my AustSwim qualification. I could now teach swimming to unsuspecting youngsters - what a fabulous part time job! Highly paid, flexible hours, perks of being a free centre member and relevant to my future career. OK, so I’m glossing over the cold hours in a pool turning into a prune whilst four year olds grab your boob to stay afloat and eight year olds pretend to drown for their own amusement. That aside, I worked in various centres and pools for the four years I was at university and really loved it. I got so excited by swimming one summer I even entered a few of those open water swims, like 'Rock to Ramp' and 'Pier to Pub'.

So now I’m back in the lycra (just!), complete with google and cap marks, the smell of chlorine sweating out my pores and feeling anything but Stephanie Rice. There are three 50m public swimming pools in Darwin and I’m trying them all out. For the past five weeks, I’ve been going with work colleagues to Parap Pool (pictured) and even help out one of them with their breathing and technique. It’s all coming back to me…and gee it feels good.