Winter Exodus
Welcome to Winter then.
Many of you have written in – or presumably wanted to write in – to inquire “what’s happened to the Glorified Gypsy?” “Why no blog?” A Nigerian even wrote in to offer money for one, and offered to deposit a decent sized sum into my bank account.
The answer, dear reader/readers is simple. Nothing. I just wanted to chill out for a few months. Lay low. Keep it real.
The responsibility of a weekly/fortnightly travel blog probably weighed heavier on me than I appreciated.
WINTER LOOKOUT: This is me at Mackenzies Lookout in south Bondi a few winters ago during a freak cold snap. Interesting how a spilt-second image could give one the mis-leading impression that I'm forcing the woman to sit next to me. That couldn't be further from the truth. A keen traveller, she actually recognised me and insisted she take a photo with me. I began telling her how it was whale-spotting season and that, if she was lucky, I'd show her a whale's spume. She assumed I meant something dirty by it. After holding on to her in order to explain, she eventually understood. In her rush to leave, however, she left her camera behind, which is how I ended up with this photo.
Regulars would have still seen me most mornings holding my famous beach pilates classes in south Bondi, while the even more eagle-eyed may have observed a serene figure performing yoga on the Mackenzies Point lookout. [1]
Doing such activities is good for the soul and helps replenish my mind so I’m better able to continue dispensing backpacker and travel advice.
Now that Winter has wrapped its moderately cold fist around our necks, the question most backpackers have is do they stick or twist? In other words, do they stay in Bondi and see the winter out like a trooper, or should they head north to warmer climes, like a Janus-faced friend who disappears when times are tough? [2]
My advice is simple. The recent royal wedding should have given us all a sufficient Ready Brek glow to last until the Spring. The sight of that young thirty-something couple tying the knot at Windsor Castle was enough fill even the hardest of republican’s heart with joy. [3] There shouldn’t be any need, then, to hitch a ride in a dilapidated Kombi all the way to Port Douglas.
I said this to Flavia just yesterday, who was considering giving up her modelling career [4] just to follow Rafinho on the “trip of a lifetime” for three months.
“Look”, I said. “It’s different if Rafa wants to travel north for the Winter.”
“Porque?” she asked.
“It just is.”
“Isso no make sentido.” She said, a cute wrinkle appearing on her nose.
I tried to caress it with the back of my hand but she pushed me away.
“If you and Rafa are really meant to be, he’ll come back and you’ll be together again.” I leaned against the mop handle and snapped the rubber gloves off my sweaty hands. “In the meantime-“
“Nos estamos engaged,” she huffed, kicking the yellow bucket at my feet so that the filthy water which I’d just mopped her dorm room floor with splashed over the sides and onto my bare feet.
“It’s your decision,” I said. “But the World Cup begins soon and not only was I hoping we could watch the final between Brazil and England together, there’s bound to be countless companies cashing in on World Cup fever for which you’d be a shoo-on to hand out marketing material for them too!”
“Que?”
“You’re so bonita, Flavia, I can see you doing an advert for Bonds or Target.”
There was a pause.
“I mean, one day,” I clarified.
Rafinho and Flavia are due to leave this coming Monday. Perhaps she'll see the Royal Wedding souvenir edition of Hello! that I left under her door and see inspiration in the cross-cultural union of an Englishman and mixed race (South) American woman. [5]
[1] Incidentally, I’ve overheard some people claim it’s narcissistic of me to do yoga in such a public place; that doing so demonstrates more plainly the vanity of the modern world. Normally I’d agree – I once saw a man straddle the boardwalk in a downward-facing dog position outside Santa Monica Pier in Los Angeles, forcing everyone onto the sand to bypass him. But when I warrior poseoverlooking the Pacific Ocean, it’s because I truly feel at one with nature. If passing photographers see it as a perfect photo opportunity, so be it.
[2] Say, for example, when a court imposes a hefty fine for selling unlicensed home-brew to underage - albeit very mature-looking – persons and you ask for financial assistance, without which you face a two-month stint in the chokey.
[3] Not to mention, come as considerable relief to those worried about the shallow royal gene pool.
[4] She currently hands out Fitness First vouchers outside Bondi Junction train station.