Easter Sunday

In Kas, picturesque town on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. Hiding chocolate eggs on the sunny rooftop terrace of a hotel in an Islamic country.

The Hideaway Hotel is divine, the stuff of fantasy - two big beds, separated by a bathroom with a huge spa bath and all white, balconies off each side, rooftop terrace with views over the sea, the sea, the sage-green olives, the ruins of an amphitheatre, the sailing boats, the wistful blue yonder!

From buffet breakfast of eggs, white cheese, black olives, crusty white bread, apple tea, tomato and cucumber slices, tea, tea, tea - to a wander through the streets. Time on our hands, sun on our backs. Shopping for bowls, taking an hour to choose a perfect set of 6 for our life, crazy colourful bowls for breakfast. Walking together, in search of a beach, a swim.

Hours in a small stony bay, dipping in and out of COLD water, the tourist-shade of blue nonetheless. Time to talk together, take photos, read books, throw stones, watch ocean-going ducks, and get dressed again, in search of more food. Sun on our faces, rest seeping into our bones.

Happy Easter!

Flying into Istanbul

The whole day has been exciting - flying over Europe, off on a holiday, just us four. Together for 2 whole weeks. Packed in two backpacks, nothing extra, planning on hopping on and off buses, staying where we please, as it's still early in the season. Easter, open spaces, open fires, Roman ruins, good food - that's what we want.

We're nervous, will we be able to keep our wits and kits together? Will this actually work - a new step up with our boys, as neither of us has been here before, neither of us speak the language, bigger notion of travel with children. Will the money do? It's tight. The tickets are frequent flyer points - using them to get tickets home didn't work, so one day in October, LMM said, how about Turkey? We've talked about it for 10 years, yep. Time to do it now then!

It's night, after some hours flying over golden twinkling cities, must be Bulgaria below..wish I'd bought the MAC lipstick at Heathrow...

And suddenly, in the same space-time as me, is Istanbul below. Unmistakeable mosques along the hillsides, the Bosforus curling along, minarets to the sky. It's huge, warmer, awake at 11pm. It begins.

We're collected by the driver from our hotel, the Alp Guesthouse, right in Sultanahmet. Arranged by email, online in a day, before we left. We're that kind of traveller for a day now, with LMM off night shifts again only this morning, and the late arrival.

We're really here, all this way over on the map, the edge of Europe, the ancient boundary, the start of Asia, from the wrong side. To me, Asia usually starts at Bali, or even Darwin really..

And under the Aya Sofya is out hotel, new fitout, just like the pictures. Back into the travel-saddle as soon as I see the late open shops, and small streets, I go down to buy beer and juice, get given a cucumber - and then LMM, the Pumpkin and I sit on our rooftop terrace, actually, incredibly overlooking the Bosforus, v pleased with ourselves, excited at the beginning! I think the beer always tastes great at this first arrival point, don't it?

Squirrel caught red-handed

Red squirrel sighting. On Sunday, as part of the school's annual Easter egg hunt, I found myself volunteering to help set up. On a windy but sunny spring day, 10 or so parents and friends spread out across Fota Park, near Cork to set up egg hunting and games challenges for children at the primary school. Caroline (one of the French mums) and I found ourselves a lovely open space, with plenty of good hiding spots and lawn for the 3-legged race - and it corresponded to the spot we should be, on the map to be given out to teams of kids on arrival.

We hid our eggs, commenting on what was too hard, too easy, how to replenish them once the first groups of kids came through, and then sat in the sun before the rush. A movement near an especially pretty hiding spot (an easy one, for the smallies!) caught our eyes.

A red squirrel, cute as any children's book, sat there, peeling the foil off an egg. We chased it away, so it skipped up the tree, jumped to another, and stared down at us, egg securely in hand. So then we checked other hiding spots, and think we lost 4-6 eggs to a very bold critter. Sorry kids, if there weren't enough eggs to find at the 3-Legged Race Station! They may be scarce here too, but that one will have done itself no favours on Sunday!

Wayfaring Stranger - as in...

..travelling through this world alone...That bright bright land, to which I go...I know dark clouds will gather round me, and I know my way be rough and steep... The beautiful fields lie just before me.

...the lyrics of Natalie Merchant's ballad stops me in my tracks, still and always.

I have companions along my way yes of course, close ones, treasures. And yet, there's an element of solitude in every life. Making my ways around the globe, through many lives, often a stranger. In the French way, like foreigner, not the English way like strange/weird/unknown. I've been one of those all my life: since I said eggs-eier at the age of two in England, learning my first English words.

Then to Malaysia, thankfully learning English there from another fair-headed girl who lived across the road, and in a Montessori pre-school. On to Australia, where at 7, I was told I must know about Hitler 'because you're German'! More strangeness. A childhood of wayfaring with my family, travels overseas to relatives and new shores across Asia and the Pacific, unlike many Canberra children at the time.

Then Sydney, making my way into adult life. Travelling again, now more to Asia between work and studies. Never making the gap year trip, never taking a big flying leap into the true unknown, always aware of needing to provide for myself, make something of myself.

Often a stranger, speaking German in Europe to avoid obnoxious Australians, French in Thailand to duck under the radar of the Germans or Australians there. Speaking all three with a cousin on a road trip through Vietnam, just to entertain ourselves and others. Because we could.

Then more ways, across Australia, with a new husband, then two surprising boys - treasures, perfect, so different though we made them both. Travels as the wife of a medical student, student life for him, motherhood and full time work for me. And a big decision to take it all to Newcastle, to settle, be responsible to our family. Another new start, a house, a garden, and always this restless stranger-self. Always from here/not from here.

And always the music, always songs, always searching out new tunes for the soundtrack of my life. Afro Celt Sound System, Buddha Bar, Natalie Merchant, Michael Franti. Again now, in Ireland, searching for new sounds. Kila. Michael McGoldrick. O'Death.

Launching

So, after more than a year of saying 'I-wanna-be-a-blogger', two more years of reading, looking, cruising and reading this online explosion, and possibly 158 days of noticing or thinking something which I could launch out here, I'm up on my wobbly blogfeet.

Observations about relocating a family from Australia to Ireland, about rich travels on the mainland, about the oddness of life in contemporary Ireland (that's most days, sure), about life with a shiftworker, about the temporary transformation from modern working mother to modern traditional homemaker! And also, observations about the experience of returning to Europe, born in Germany, but lived oh-so-many years in Australia: an exploration of roots and how they twine through my life, and the lives I helped create.

Oh and there's some oddball blogging going to go on until I catch up the many posts I shoulda made online, but in fact they made it only to my journal. Realtime blogging to commence soon.

A record of this bigger-than-ever year, for friends, family: including my own two small treasures, for the time they might want to read about their big year too.

It's worth it!

This going to the gym, battling with constant demotivation, tiredness, setbacks. It's worth it.

Skiing this week, (and how that even sounds) for the FIRST time ever, I was able to keep my legs and feet going in the same direction. Keep my breath, keep working on the cross-country piste in the clear sunshine, just long enough to see if I could get the hang of it. And get up again the next day, do something with the boys, sled a while, run across the field to get the cars and move them again, and still be ok at the end of the day. This sounds small, but is an achievement - I could NOT have done this for a week, 6 months ago.

So that's great motivation to go back, and go even harder, just keep going. Just when I'd thought it was all going nowhere. And I'll need a harder programme again too. My Painterwoman friend is blunt: if you're not seeing results, you're not working hard enough. Go back and crank it up to 8! Do more reps. Think of being in labour - it's not called labour for nothing, she says!. So this is not called a workout for nothing...

I'm not thinner, sad, but I DO have more endurance, more power. And a calmer mind, more able to deal with all the rest of the pieces which are now my life.

Life with a Shiftworker

We're getting used to this now. I know the week must be the night-shift week (ie 7 nights straight), when:

• LMM physically dreads going to work for the weekend ahead. The worst shift is 2200-0900h, 1800-0400h is much better;
• I stay up late most nights alone, too late, and end up dog-tired too. It's as if I'm staying up in sympathy, but that's dumb, because I get to sleep in the bed all by myself, which should be nice for a change;
• I shift clothes and stuff into the boys bathroom so I can shower after the gym quietly;
• I harass the boys to be quiet in the flat, or trawl around town trying to stay out as long as possible;
• A bleary-eyed man sends sms from the bedroom seeking tea and sympathy;
• I'm starting to hoard the clean clothes by about Thursday, planning the packing for 3 for the week ahead - washing and sorting outfits so we're ready for the next trip;
• I'm packing in the early evenings of the weekend, while staying out as long as possible during the days: passports, the right gear, the right bags, what else don't they need, empty the fridge?
• We pour the boys and LMM into some plane on the Monday and go.

The week after, it takes until about Wednesday for him to function again and the holiday really starts. We've used this week for something really good and new every month. This time, it's off to ski in Austria. Flying into Munich, oh we're in the swing of it now - and a car to collect straight away at the airport! And the switch into German won't be hard, it's only been a month. Accommodation organised by cousin, who changed accommodation at the last minute, to ensure we'd get plenty of snow. Exciting stuff - and so easy, we're here, used to eachothers' ways on holidays now. But yes, much the easier for us, having them there.

Next time Turkey, after that France! On our own then.