Category Archives: Places

David Malouf: Remembering Babylon

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I read this a while ago, but I am still haunted by this fictional journal entry, from a fictional Anglican minister, in a fictional white settlement in 1840s’s Queensland:

We have been wrong to see this continent as hostile and infelicitous, so that only by the fiercest stoicism, a supreme resolution and force of will, and by felling, clearing, sowing with the seeds we have bought with us and by importing sheep, cattle, rabbits, even the very birds of the air, can it be shaped and made habitable. It is habitable already. I think of our early settlers, starving on those shores in the midst of  plenty they did not recognise, in a blessed mature of flesh, fowl, fruit that was all around them and which they could not, with their English eyes, perceive, since the very habit and faculty that makes apprehensible to us what is known and expected dulls out sensitivity to other forms, even the most obvious.

We must run our eyes and look again, clear our minds of what we are looking for to see what is there. Is it not strange, this history of ours, in which explorers, men on the track of the unknown, fall dry mouthed and exhausted in country where natives, moving just ahead of them, or behind, or a mile to one side, are living, as they have done of centuries, off the land? Is there not a kind of refractory pride in it, an insistence that if the land will not present itself to us in terms that we know, we would rather die than take it as it is?

For there is a truth here and it is this: that no continent lies outside God’s bounty and his intention to provide for his children. He is a gardener and everything he makes is a garden. This place too will one day, I believe, yield its fruits to us and to the great banquet at which we are the guests, the common feast; as the Americas brought corn and tomatoes and sweet peppers, and rhubarb and the potato, that bitter root of the high Andes that women, over long years, by experiment and crossbreeding, have leached of its poison and made palatable, to be the food of millions. (There is a lily-root here that the women know how to boil and make edible.)

The children of this land were made for it, as it was for them, and is to them a rich habitation, teeming with milk and honey – even if much of its richness is still hidden; but then so was the milk and honey of the Promised Land, which was neither milk, in fact, nor honey, and the land itself to all appearance parched and without promise. We must humble ourselves and learn from them. The time will come when we too will be sustained not only by wheat and lamb and bottled cucumbers, but by what the land itself produces, tasting at last the earthy sweetness of it, allowing it to feed our flesh with its minerals and underground secrets so that what spreads in us is an intimate understanding of what it truly is, with all that is unknowable in it made familiar within…

…The theodolite offers only one way of moving into the continent and apprehending the scope and contours of it. Did we not, long ago, did not our distant ancestors, bring in out of the great plains where they wandered, out of mere wilderness, the old coarse grasses that lapped the bellies of their horses, and, separating the grains and nursing them to plumpness, learning how to mill and grind and make daily bread, and how to tend the wild vine till its fruit yielded wine, create settled places where men and women sit at tables among neighbours, in a daily sacrament which is the image of the Lord’s greater one? All this can be done again. This is what is intended by our coming here: to make this place too part of the world’s garden, but by changing ourselves rather than it and adding thus to the richness and variety of things.

How I wish that this character were true, and that his hopes for his new home had come true.



The Grand Tour

Our Grand Tour wrapped up two weeks ago and it was incredible.

Lots of people have asked me about our highlights – one amazing thing that happened, or a shortlist of the places we liked best. My usual answer has been that the whole trip was a highlight: everything we saw and smelled, tasted and heard was so beautiful and overwhelming, that every day was just as wonderful as the last.

That being said there were some things about the trip generally that I really loved. They’re not really highlights, I guess. They are the things we did throughout the whole trip that, in the end, made the Grand Tour very grand indeed.


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My current drug

In three weeks something very exciting is happening: Matt and I are going to Europe. We are going to explore four different cities, and we are going to see friends and, most excitingly, we are going to witness our friends’ wedding in the north of Italy.

A few months ago this trip was completely out of the question, but then a couple of things changed and suddenly we were organising an international holiday. Other than our honeymoon in Fiji, Matt and I have not traveled overseas as grownups, so there has been a lot of research going on to make sure everything runs smoothly.

At first it was stressful, but as we began to book flights and places to stay… it started getting fun! Drawing up an itinerary, tentatively putting aside items to pack, booking train tickets – it’s become a stimulating exercise. I’ve developed a new set of problem-solving skills and it’s fired up my imagination. What will we see when we get there? How will it feel? What do we need to take to navigate our way through foreign countries?

For the last couple of months, dreaming and planning for our holiday has overtaken all my normal hobbies. When I get home from work or college and I want to relax, I head straight to the computer to keep making plans, or look at pictures of the places we will go. It’s my new drug, it’s the thing that makes me feel good. The things I used to do to rest are all kind of on hold for the moment. Our garden is looking a little unloved, I haven’t made anything new for ages, there has been no blogging or writing or reading. Holiday planning is everything!

My friends and family who travel regularly talk about the experience of wanderlust, and getting hooked on the need to plan holidays and travel. I wonder if I will feel it too when we get home? It will be weird to come back home and to not be able to rest through the planning of a holiday. I can imagine how addictive this feeling could become in the long term, how easily the planning of holidays could take over one’s life.