My Samoan Seduction

March 24, 201310 Comments

I CAN’T pinpoint exactly when, but at some stage in the conversation, Chris Solomona gets straight to the point. Of his penis to be precise. More so, the fact it’s the only part of his body from his middle back to his knees that is not covered in tribal tattoos, thus ensuring I spend the rest of our meeting trying to peek under his lava lava for confirmation. But this is not a story of sex. It’s one of seduction. A tale of tattoos, tradition and testosterone. Of tsunamis, tragedy and ultimately triumph. This is my tale of the South Pacific, welcome to my Samoan seduction.

The tattoos, deeply etched into Chris’ cocoa-coloured skin, scream of centuries of culture, tradition and the ultimate test of manhood…soul-searing pain. They speak volumes of this South Pacific paradise in which I find myself talking intimately with a man, whom I’ve never met, about the most delicious of subjects. Finding love, the Samoan way.

“We are still intact and alive in our old ways. We have a Council of Chiefs and laws you must abide by. The most common law is it is taboo to think about marrying a girl from your own village. If you marry outside your race you will get a slap on the back. They will say ‘that a boy’,” Chris says.

“There is quite a process that a man has to go through in order to get a date. Back in 1999, I was drinking kava and I saw a beautiful woman come into the market and I asked people for her name and some woman told me it was Nora. So I went home and cooked all this food such as taro and a roasted pig. On the way to her village I stopped and bought two bottles of beer. There was no way I was going to do this sober.

“I walked in to her house and I put the pig on the floor and then forget what I am going to say. I can see two girls but I can’t see Nora in this room and I am wondering if I am in the right family. It turns out she was in the kitchen cooking and when she came out and sat next to me and I felt like I was eating broken glass.”

“Two to three weeks later I spent the weekend with her family but there was no privacy. We went out for one year and there was no touching. I’m a modern male and this is paradise but we’re not that perfect,” he laughs at the sexual frustration.

Fourteen years later and the couple now have five children, all traces of sexual frustration seemingly erased. Chris, who manages the Samoan Tourism Association Cultural Village in the capital, may be a modern male, but traditions such as tattooing run deep within his veins. When the missionaries arrived here in 1830, they tried to stop tattoos but the Samoans refused to relinquish this crucial piece of their culture designed to test bravery and courage. But don’t be fooled. Chris describes the procedure, which takes several months, as “a world of hurt, pain and suffering you cannot explain”.

“It is pure pain and torture and something that no man in their right mind would go through. Coming out of it is like a second chance at living.”

A second chance at living is what this charming country knows all too well having survived its share of cyclones and a devastating tsunami in 2009 which claimed 189 lives in the South Pacific region, many of them Samoan children. Samoa is a land of love and loss. Of triumph over tragedy. You can’t have paradise without pain. The Samoans, who ooze charm, character and beauty, know this maxim all too well, for this is a country with soul.

According to Chris, if you want to find a Samoan man, first you need to find a Samoan woman.

“You find a Samoan woman and stay with her in the village and you mingle. Then, all the men in the village will be watching. In Samoa, you just sit back and wait and all the pieces will fall into place. Actually, waiting in the wrong word. You will be hiding,” he laughs.

I spend the rest of the day lurking behind coconut trees, practising my “hiding”. At the bar, at the beach, at the pool, behind coconut trees.

And I’m in luck. The very next night I stumble across my Samoan sista-in-crime in the form of Natasha Tamasese at Sinalei Reef Resort and Spa on the South Coast. What I don’t know at the time is that Natasha has married into Samoan royalty – the Tamasese name synonymous with one of the paramount chiefs of the country and highly revered. Yes, in terms of a wing woman, I’ve hit the jackpot. And best of all, I’m told there’s one unmarried brother in the family who lives in Queensland. Yes, you heard it, right under my nose. I’d reveal more details, but then I’d have to kill you all.

Aside from the opportunity to dine with the Tamasese’s, Sinalei is also home to Spa Tui I Lagi, named after the resort owner’s wife who died in the 2009 Tsunami. Even in languid Samoa, time marches on and tries to heal the deepest wounds. Joe, the resort owner, has found love again and just announced his engagement to Tammy. Yes, love, loss, tragedy and triumph. I contemplate these concepts during a massage at the resort’s oceanfront spa the next morning on the most perfect of days. My spa therapist mentions the sound of the waves breaking casually against the reef outside. “You can hear its voice,” she says simply. Even the ocean here is a seductress.

And so, too, is the language in this country. When Samoans speak in their native tongue, they tend to slowly wrap their mouths around each word, pronouncing every consonant and evocatively elongating vowels. On the flight home I fantasise about two things: learning to speak this lovely language to my new husband who is yet to learn of my existence, and a return trip to the South Pacific. Yes, you too, should wrap yourself around Samoa. I can guarantee, it will seduce you back.

The Global Goddess travelled to Samoa as a guest of the Samoan Tourism Authority. If you, too, wish to be seduced by Samoa go to http://www.samoa.travel for more information. Virgin Australia flys direct to Samoa from Brisbane once a week and several times from Sydney.

Spacifica Travel is offering a number of last-minute Easter specials to Samoa from $1449 per adult and $779 per child flying Virgin Australia from Sydney. The price includes return airport transfers, 7 nights for the price of 6 in the Tanoa Tusitala Hotel in Apia, and continental breakfast daily. http://www.spacificatravel.com

Can’t find Prince Charming, for all the tea in China

March 11, 2013March 12, 20134 Comments

INTRIGUING news out of China reveals that despite there being 118 men to every 100 women – that is, a whopping additional 30 million blokes – more and more females are remaining single. And, not only are they single, but there’s a word for them: shengnu or “leftover women”, according to the latest edition of Marie Claire Australia magazine. Yes, like last night’s fried rice, if a woman isn’t married by the age of 28 in China, she’s left on the shelf, the report reveals.

Now, on the one hand, this gives me some hope. I was beginning to think it was just me who couldn’t find a partner and that maybe it was a specific Queensland problem with most of our blokes working in remote regions and down the mines. (In the north-west Queensland mining town of Mount Isa, there are seven men to every woman). But the best news of all about this report is it’s not only the men who are making the decision to stay single, it’s the women in China who now also believe the men are not up to scratch.

You see, these women have spent the best part of 30 years growing up, becoming educated, and in the case of many noveau riche, spectacularly wealthy in their own right, and they are now refusing to settle for second best. I mean, why would you?

Unfortunately, on the other hand, every Chinese man still believes he should marry a super model, with Marie Claire reporting that a matchmaking site called Jiayuan, which means Beautiful Destiny, revealing men want women with a “traditional, angelic smile” and…this will shock you…”large breasts and slim figures.” Still, some are still getting married, or at least, shooting wedding photo shoots.

Which pretty much leaves China, Australia and anywhere else in the world at a bit of a dating impasse, as this picture, below, demonstrates. (A tip: put away your mobile phones people, start talking, and whatever you do, DON’T kiss the girl in the middle).

I don’t have any solutions to this, or I would a very rich woman in a relationship. But I have decided to adopt a different approach. In the current edition of Brisbane Style Magazine there’s another interesting interview with Clinical Psychologist Dr John Barletta who talks about the desire to find a mate. His advice: “My counsel is to simply do things that give you pleasure and nourish you. If you are having a good life where you are relaxed, confident, accomplishing, and happy, people will notice that you are in a good space, that you are available, and they will see you as psychologically attractive and resilient.”

I have decided to embrace his advice and as such, am renouncing my bogan dating site. No more bad spellin’ fellas for me. Instead, for the rest of the year, I’m going to try all those things I’ve always wanted to experience. At least once. I’m going to do a Belly Dancing Class, try Zumba, learn Burlesque, head down to Manly on a Wednesday afternoon and jump aboard a sailing crew, stand-up paddleboard, take a surfing lesson, volunteer somewhere, perfect the art of Gnocchi-making, take a live-art drawing class.

Watch this space.

The Global Goddess took these photos while on a recent trip to Taiwan to which she travelled courtesy of Cathay Pacific’s Premium Economy cabin.

How to get to Taiwan from Australia: Cathay Pacific has multiple flights a week to Taipei via Hong Kong from six major Australian cities, including at least three flights daily from Sydney; three from Melbourne; daily from Brisbane; seven weekly flights from Cairns and Adelaide; and ten weekly flights from Perth.

For more info on Cathay Pacific go to http://www.cathaypacific.com
For more info on Taiwan go to http://www.taiwan.net.tw/

Betting on Buddha

March 1, 2013March 1, 20136 Comments

I’M gambling with God. Dicing with Dharma. Betting on Buddha. This adventure unravels in the Taiwanese capital of Taipei, in Long Shan Temple. And I’m essentially playing Taiwanese two-up but it’s not money I’m chasing, it’s love. Of all the temples in Taiwan, it’s here that people flock to seek answers to their lives. Want love? Money? Health? Success? Come to the Department of Deities. I’m lured into the temple by the peaceful hum of devout Buddhists.

Around me, people are playing some sort of interesting game involving two blocks of wood. And just when I think it’s all lost in translation, out of no where, a Californian Chinese woman whose name I later learn is Su Lin, shows me how it’s done.

“First you take a stick which has a number on it. Then, in your head, you tell Buddha your name, where you are from and what you are asking for (in my case: love),” Su Lin says.

“Then you take the two blocks of wood. If they both land face up, Buddha is still thinking about your request. If they both land face down, your request will not happen. If one lands face down and one lands face up, your request will come true.”

I nervously drop the blocks of wood. One lands face up and the other face down. Su Lin and I jump up and down like we’ve just won lotto. She takes the original number I selected and goes to a little cabinet from which she takes a corresponding piece of paper, all of it written in Chinese characters. She still doesn’t know my wish.

“Oh, you are very lucky,” she beams. “You will marry a man of honour.” I am then required to thank the Goddess of Mercy. Thank her? I could marry her myself for such good fortune.

This is a story of love and lanterns. At Hsinshu city, south of Taipei, the 2013 Taiwan Lantern Festival is underway to celebrate the last day of Chinese New Year and the first day of the full moon. If you think you’ve seen lanterns, think again. Every conceivable object has been transformed into an object of art. Delta Energy has also constructed the world’s largest outdoor projection screen which is 100 percent recycled at a cost of US$2 million.

Yes, things are changing in Taiwan where it’s a spell-binding blend of old and new. Here, 2000 year old lantern festivals and traditional food from its diverse regions, combine with concepts like conservation. The yin and the yang. For more contemporary Taiwanese experiences, head to Kaohsiung MRT in the south-west, where its Dome of Light ceiling has earned it the title of the second most beautiful tube station in the world after Montreal. At the nearby Ten Drum Ciatou Creative Park, they’re calling it “A Revolution of Drum Art” where an enterprising group of Taiwanese drummers – who performed at the 2000 Sydney Olympics – are taking tourists on a new beat. If you’ve enjoyed the show, you can even take a drum class.

Back in the north, about an hour east of Taipei in the usually sleepy village of Pingxi, the Sky Lantern Festival also takes place at this time of year. The traditional festival is held here, the home of waterfalls and mountains, as to have the smallest impact on the environment. Around 200,000 people congregate to write their wishes on a lantern and send it into the night sky. In my case, again, it’s love I shoot off to the stars.

According to Su Lin, the woman I met at the Long Shan Temple, should I meet my love, I must return with him to Taiwan to thank Buddha for making my dreams come true. I’m writing out wedding invitations as we speak.

The Global Goddess travelled to Taiwan in pure style courtesy of Cathay Pacific’s Premium Economy cabin. Launched in February 2012, the new Premium Economy experience features a more quiet, spacious cabin than the traditional Economy Class with between 26 and 34 seats per aircraft. The seat pitch is 38 inches – six inches more than Economy Class – and the seat itself is wider and has a bigger recline. Special features include a large meal table, a cocktail table, footrest, a 10.6 inch personal television, an in-seat power outlet, a multi-port connector for personal devices and extra personal stowage space. Premium Economy passengers are also allowed 25kg of luggage and have priority check-in at dedicated counters and priority boarding.

For more info on Cathay Pacific go to http://www.cathaypacific.com
For more info on Taiwan go to http://www.taiwan.net.tw/

Ex marks the spot

February 20, 2013February 20, 20135 Comments

If, like me, you’ve ever wondered what to do with your ex, one enterprising Brisbane business sells the perfect solution. At Olive Home, in Ashgrove, you can now buy and bake voodoo doll cookies with this lovely little cookie cutter set upon which my friend and fabulous food blogger Kerry Heaney (www.eatdrinkandbekerry.blogspot.com.au) stumbled today. And you wouldn’t even care if the cookies burned. Burn, baby, burn. (Sorry, I got carried away for a second).

Of course, there’s loads of other solutions as well. Just speak to my mother. You see, mum and dad sired four daughters, of which I am one (the nutty youngest if you really must know). And from those four daughters, there’s been five marriages. The interesting bit is, depending on your point of view, there’s also been four divorces. Now, if you’re a pessimist, you might say that’s a bad thing, but I like to think we’re a bunch of overachievers. I mean, the average divorce rate is at about 50%. Not in my family. No, we sit at 80%. Now, that’s what I call gifted. Although some days I can’t help but feel a little like a Kennedy. But I digress. After each divorce mum, who naturally blames every bloke for the failure of the marriages (she’s not far wrong), writes their name on a piece of paper, and puts it in the freezer. Yes, you heard right. She freezes them. Apparently, some old witch (could have been my grandmother), told her about this little tradition which is meant to somehow curse the blokes in question for all eternity. So mum’s freezer looks a little like this (but with far more food in it).

Mum, being married to a butcher and a grazier, has also threatened to chop off certain parts of their anatomy and put them on display like the one below. But we’ve all assured her there wasn’t enough worth chopping.

However, if you were insane enough to marry into our family, I’d say be afraid. Be very afraid. Mum scares the hell of out me most days, I can’t imagine what it would be like not being of her loins. So, what of that last 20% still married? My oldest sister has somehow managed to hang on to her husband, to the man affectionately known in our family as Last Man Standing. I sometimes see droplets of sweat appear on his brow when we refer to him like this.

Yes, should Last Man Standing ever do anything to warrant the final divorce – unless the sister who has married twice has a third crack at it – I can already imagine mum’s reaction.
I spent years recovering from my divorce and there were times when I agreed with mum, but I figured she’s got all the black magic covered. These days, I try to focus on what lays ahead. Yes, The Global Goddess is a lover, not a fighter. On that note, I leave you with this thought…

If you really do want to know all about food, rather than revenge, check out Eat Drink + Be Kerry, http://www.eatdrinkandbekerry.blogspot.com.au. This famous foodie is currently running a fantastic comp where you can win a year’s supply of hot chocolate. And for those who want a tour of my mother’s freezer, leave a comment below. I’m sure it can be arranged.

It’s raining men

February 13, 2013February 13, 20132 Comments

WHERE in the world are all the men? As a travel writer I have trekked the globe looking for good stories and good blokes (usually in that order). Sure, I can always stumble across a decent yarn, but finding a fella is not so simple. Some people have even accused me of becoming a travel writer JUST so I could find a man. If that were the case, I’d be a spy. Far more glamourous. Then again, who am I kidding? I can’t keep a secret. So, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, and spilling the beans, let me tell you where you CAN find a man. But first, here’s some places you might wish to avoid.

I stumbled across these two nice boys one late afternoon at Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Unfortunately, despite their snappy fashion sense, they advised me they were already in love. With Buddha. So I moved on.

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This one I found at Montreal at the Comedy Festival. Unfortunately, it was summer, and I like my blokes to be brave, so unless he can handle a bit of cold weather, he's not the one for me.

In Salem, I discovered there are actually more witches than lawyers. Still, that’s pretty handy if you are getting divorced and want to cast a spell on your ex. But I was unable to conjure up a boyfriend.

In Dubrovnik, this lovely old man looked like a prospect. Until he told me he was waiting for someone. Much younger than me.

In Brisbane, things are so dire, you’d think every man was dead.
So, where in the world are all the men?

NEW ZEALAND! According to a report released yesterday, a stack of hot tradies have been flocking to Christchurch to rebuild the city after its 2011 earthquake. Things are so good there for single women, there’s four men for every woman. That’s right, I’ve travelled the globe and they’ve been sitting right under my nose all along. So Happy Valentine’s Day. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a plane to catch.

My First Fast

January 22, 2013January 23, 20135 Comments

IN a bid to challenge my consumption on both an environmental and health level, yesterday I partook in my first food fast. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. She’s clawing her way one step closer to becoming a miu miu wearing hippy. While this may be my ultimate goal in life, I really did want to see how my body and mind would react to limiting my food intake to that of a child.

I was inspired to do this by a story in The Weekend Australian which talks about a new program known as intermittent fasting (IF). Under this plan, on two alternate days a week you essentially limit your daily intake to 2720 kilojoules for women (a little more for men), allowing your body to restore and recover.

While it’s still in its infancy, the “diet” is receiving rave reviews for its ability to reduce the chances of things like cancer, as it works on the premise that while we are always burning food fuel, our bodies don’t have time to actually repair. Followers also report losing at least 1kg a week.

So, was it all just a bit kooky like the time my sister and I invested our entire summer spending money in a bottle of Ebony tanning lotion, under the premise we would turn into Whitney Houston? Or did I actually realise some results? Let me also add, I am not someone who normally take photos of her food. Unless you are a food writer or chef, I find it intriguing when a bunch of white, wealthy people in the western world document everything they eat. (During this fast, you will notice how much everyone talks about food on Facebook. Stay off Facebook. One friend even posted a photo of a keyring that looked like a macaron).

I start the morning with the recommended breakfast: one boiled egg and a cup of black coffee. For someone who heaps two teaspoons of sugar and some milk into her daily Cup of Joe, this was a challenge. I tried to concentrate on the sensation of the coffee. Silky and black and a vessel to wake me up in the morning. A bit like my ideal man. Although I also like my ideal man to be sweet. I take my time and savour the egg, which is delicious, although I just wish there was more of it. Why, God, why, did I choose a normal chook egg and not that of an emu? Meanwhile, I reminisce about the missing piece of toast like a long-lost lover.

By mid-morning I am not only feeling light-headed, but I am also having evil, hateful thoughts towards my parents. My low blood sugar is causing me to recall every horrible thing they’ve ever done (or not done) and is playing out like a horror movie in my head. Thankfully, I’ve been to meditation class the night before, and am practising to just “observe” the Freddy Kruger in my head.

Lunch. At last. I’ve spent the past 4.5 hours since my egg glancing at the clock, counting down like a child would to Christmas. Lunch is a bowl of vegetable soup. Who knew carrots, corn and chickpeas could be a whole world of fun?

The thing that concerns me is my afternoon swim. How on earth am I going to swim 1km on a stomach devoid of carbs? Secondly, if anyone else attempts to share my lane, I’m in such a scratchy mood, I think I might drown them, myself, or both of us. I panic a little. There’s nothing in the story about exercise. Am I meant to do it at all?

By mid-afternoon, I think I could eat one of the small children I spied at the pool but I’m lucid enough to realise this could result in me losing my Blue Card. I feel like Victoria Beckham – hungry and cranky. I decide to make a cup of Peppermint tea.

Dinner is a veritable feast of 10 cherry tomatoes, half a sliced eggplant (I cheat and buy the biggest I can find), 1 zucchini, 1 red capsicum and half a red onion scattered with basil, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and 1 teaspoon of olive oil and roasted. I think I might burst with glee when I read the recipe also allows for 1 tablespoon of parmesan. I pretend the eggplant is a steak and my sparkling mineral water is a G&T.

I go to bed slightly earlier, and hungrier than normal. I realise all I’ve thought about all day is food (which is a nice change from men). Funny about what you obsess, when you can no longer have it. But I’ve done it! While I wouldn’t rush to do it again, I have learned something new about food and my attitude towards it. In a world where so many are starving, it’s nice to be reminded of our abundance.

The Global Goddess’ verdict: Unlike total fasts, which I believe are not practical and possibly send your body into “starvation mode” when next you eat, the restricted calorie intake fast has merit. I could see it working after a big holiday or festive season in which you’ve over-indulged. Possibly, and this is the hard bit, if we restricted our calories a little every day, we wouldn’t have to resort to two days of fasting. What really appealed to me was that it made me value every morsel and think about the food I consumed. To donate to Foodbank Australia – whose mantra is “an Australia without hunger” – go to www.foodbank.com.au

Ten eco-friendly ways to find a fella

January 14, 2013January 14, 201320 Comments

INSPIRED by a friend and fellow travel writer’s blog – No Impact Girl – in which Lou Southerden is trying to reduce her impact on the planet, I’ve decided to devote a blog to environmentally friendly ways to find men.

Here are my Top 10 suggestions:

1. Hide in the recycling bin and wait until Tuesday morning, around 5am, when the garbo comes around. While waiting, and if you’ve been sorting through your rubbish properly, you’ll have plenty of newspapers to read to keep you company and very few cabbage leaves attached to your head. When your hear the roar of the truck, jump up like a jack-in-the-box and say “surprise”. Don’t forget to accept the compliment when the garbo points out you are not trash.

2. Go to an airport. But don’t fly. Anywhere. Flying = bad carbon pollution. Sitting on one’s bum = moderate visual pollution. Spend the entire day in the departure lounge with your recycled water and banana (the skin will later become compost) and strike up conversations with handsome strangers looking like they are going somewhere interesting. Try not to look disappointed when he says he has to rush to catch the red eye to Bangkok. You know there is no red eye to Bangkok.

3. Visit your local library. Among all those recycled books which have been read by hundreds before you, you’re bound to find someone lurking between the shelves. So what if he’s 90 and thumbing through the 1970s Playboy collection? At least he can read. Unless he’s 90 and hanging around the children’s books. Move on. Fast. And call the police.

4. A nudist/eco retreat. What could go wrong? There can be no lies, no subterfuge, just let your body do the talking. If he’s a hard-core Greenie, you don’t even have to wax! There will be no surprises when you get your man home, you already know how his extremities cope with cold water.

5. The beach. Take a frisbee (made out of bamboo, rather than plastic) and start throwing it. Men seem to love playing frisbee at the beach. Once they realise you have no one to throw it back to you, they’re bound to join you. Unless a mangy dog gets there first in which case try to act cool and pretend the dog is yours.

6. Walk. Everywhere. Doesn’t matter how far you have to walk, just keep walking. Afterall, you’re not going to meet anyone sitting inside the confines of your air-con car singing Celine Dion now, are you? If you can’t walk, cycling is also a great option, however I fear whizzing past someone at speed is not conducive to snappy pick-up lines. Go back to walking.

7. Funerals. Not your own. Not even someone you know. Complete strangers. What could be more environmentally friendly than watching someone go back from whence they came? Don’t pick a cremation. All that smoke ash cannot be good for the environment. Because you are not emotionally involved with the deceased, you’ll be in a much better position than any other single woman at the funeral to make your move on any vulnerable men. And who on earth is going to question your attendance at a funeral?

8. An environmental rally. Nothing screams sexy more than angry protestors. Imagine the testosterone. You may have to wait for your knight in shining hemp to be released on bail should he be arrested, but he’ll be worth the wait. He loves the planet and all her foibles. Imagine how much he will love you.

9. The Great Southern Ocean. If you can hang in there with the whales, eventually a group of hunky eco warriors will come down and save you all from the evil spear guns of the Japanese whalers. Don’t, whatever you do, wear a black wet suit. It might, however, get a little chilly. Take a cardigan.

10. Not on the computer. Who ever met someone on the computer? How many trees and brain cells are we killing sitting on these things for hours on end? Get out there. Hug a tree. You never know who might be hugging the other side. OK, so he’s a deranged escaped mental health patient. Go to the next tree.

While The Global Goddess may have her tongue planted firmly in her cheek about environmentally-friendly ways to find a fella, she takes the issue of the planet, and what we’re doing to it, seriously. We need to learn to love Mother Earth. Check out No Impact Girl at www.noimpactgirl.blogspot.com for some serious ways to do your bit.

A Dating Drought or Menopause?

January 9, 2013January 9, 201311 Comments

SOMEONE please pass the remote control, as I think I’ve hit Menopause. Now, before you all start marvelling at this medical miracle (I know what you’re thinking, how can someone so young and virile reach menopause?), I don’t mean the hot flushes, cranky pants condition. Heck, if that was the barometer, everyone in Brisbane this week would be suffering from the Change of Life. No, I mean the real deal. A protracted pause in men.

Now, you may be reading this and thinking, so what’s new? It’s not like she’s had any luck on the dating scene in recent centuries. But I mean, there are NO men on the radar. And by this I mean, not even the bad-spellers who think apostrophes are an incorrect ink stain on the page best avoided. Not even the desperate 70 year olds who have finally realised the futility of chasing 20 year olds and have upgraded their search to women in their 40s like me. There’s no one!

I’ve been trying to console myself with the fact it’s still early January and all those bad spellers are still out west pig shootin and guzzlin Bundy, but now I’m starting to wonder. How many pigs could there be? What if….insert dramatic pause…even the dudes who don’t know the difference between your and you’re or there and their, and may or may not have their front teeth, have finally decided I’m over the hill?

I’ve read all about the real Menopause and it truly fascinates me. Of most interest, is how bad can it really be? And I refer to the other end of the female reproductive cycle, Menstruation. Now, I lived in utter terror of my first period, largely because I was sold all sorts of horror stories about this, including terrifying tales of being on the softball field one day and litres of blood suddenly gushing out of my body. My best friend at the time, Michelle, told me an equally horrifying fable of her sister having her first period, and at the dinner table that night, her mother announcing to the entire family that “Kathy is a woman now”. Oh. My. God. Dinner and a show.

This fear was not helped by my mother whose own mother told her nothing about menstruation so that the day my mum got her first period, she believed she was bleeding to death. (If you think there’s a dramatic gene in my family, you are correct). Unfortunately, mum decided to correct this issue for future generations by taking us aside at the premature age of 7, handing us a booklet with butterflies on the front entitled “Now You’re A Woman” and at the end asking whether we had any questions. Questions?! Good, God woman. I had no idea what these butterflies were up to!

So we left the kitchen table none the wiser. For several years I actually thought Menstruation just meant frustration with men. Until the big day finally arrived. There was no triage scene on the softball field. It was all a bit of an anticlimax really. Although that didn’t stop me circling the Hill’s Hoist five or six times while mum was hanging the washing, nervously trying to find a way to break the news to her. I chickened out, and waited till she was in the kitchen doing something horrible with mince (mum does horrible things with mince) to break the news. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she gushed, as if I’d told her we’d just won the lotto. Frankly, I stood there thinking she was over-reacting a bit as usual. And then there was the issue of dinner that night. At what point would she make the big announcement to the rest of the family? Thankfully, this was just another myth, and I escaped with just having to eat some horrible mince dish.

But I digress. Sometime in the future I will have to face the issue of Menopause. Do you still call your mum? Gather some girlfriends and announce it over dinner? Play softball? I have no idea. And how will I know the difference between Climate Change and the Change of Life?

In the meantime, while I’ve still got a few good years left in me, I half wish those bad spellin pig shooters would come back into town from out west. Or are the barra biting somewhere? Surely, if I overlook the occasional dangling participle or stop caring about the difference between where, were and we’re, I can find some common ground?

Then again, maybe I should just hang out till February, when it gets even hotter and the young university boys truck into town. At least they can spell.

Hippy New Year!

January 3, 2013January 3, 20131 Comment

“An awkward morning is better than a lonely night,” Graffiti on the toilet wall at The Woodford Folk Festival.

I’M in Bill’s Bar when the delightful Doreen takes my order. “He must be hot, young and smart,” I tell her. Doreen isn’t just any old waitress, she works at the Meet Market where dating dreams come true. “What else do I want?” I ask Doreen. “Someone who treats you like the Goddess that you are,” she replies. “How do you know I’m a Goddess?” I ask her in amazement. “Darl, when you’ve been in this game long enough, you just know.” And with that, she hands me a carbon copy of my order straight from her notebook.

Unfortunately, later that day, Doreen also accosts one of my gorgeous gay male friends and tells him she can find plenty of women for him. Gay-dars, it appears, don’t work quite so well out in the Australian bush.

I’m at the annual Woodford Folk Festival, about an hour and a half north-west of Brisbane, re-setting my soul for the year ahead. The previous evening in The Joy Luck Club tent I’ve already attended Jon Bennett’s show “Pretending Things are a Cock”, which is pretty much as the title suggests. Jon’s brother Tim used to be obsessed with his own penis, to the point he would put it in Jon’s ear. A childhood prank has since spawned a career for Jon, who now travels the globe, taking photos of all things phallic. You’ve never thought of the Statue of Liberty as a penis? Think again.

But if you think this is a sex fest, you’d be mistaken. Nor is it only for happy hippies. For one week between Christmas and New Year, Woodford is the place where ordinary people can simply suspend reality. Listen to some great music, participate in enlightening talks, meet random people, eat, dance, laugh and camp. A place for acrobrats and artists. And most of all, where you can open your mind. Shake off the cobwebs of the year just gone.

So successful is this festival, which has battled every challenge from stinking hot summers where crowd numbers wilted, to flooding rains which devastated the site, that former and current Prime Ministers make it their business to be there. Clad in t.shirt and jeans, Prime Minister Julia Gillard tells the packed Concert tent the story of a friend’s children, a little girl and a little boy. The little boy tells the little girl he wants to be Prime Minister when he grows up, to which the little girl responds: “You can’t. Only women in Australia can be Prime Minister.”

The crowd laughs, but nor is this a love fest. The dirty, smouldering issues like coal seam gas, fracking, climate change and whaling in the Southern Ocean simmer all week long in the Greenhouse tent where experts such as Professor Ian Lowe talks about the rise of the Eco Warrior.

In the middle of a sassy summer storm after a sultry day, a panel in The Blue Lotus tent is talking about bullying and examining how it may be linked to creating a creative class. Those kids that are picked on and socially isolated learn some pretty crafty tricks such as conjuring up imaginary friends with whom to play. Daydreaming of nicer, colourful worlds where everyone is kind. They become the masters of perceptiveness, awareness, intuition.

Under the canvas at The Grande, Spain meets surf music in the form of long-haired Latinos Los Coronas, a band which sounds like matadors have arrived in Maui. Acclaimed Aboriginal singer Archie Roach packs The Amphi & Hilltop stage as does the John Butler Trio. Kate Miller-Heidke kills it at The Concert and Women in Docs is in luck at The Duck.

Back in The Blue Lotus, Sunshine Coast Astrologer Lyvea Rose doles out the skinny on the year ahead. “Between 2013 and 2015, the corrupt kings will fall. The hippy movement which started in the 60s will be realised. Don’t attach to old structures like banks and bosses. It’s a revolution of the heart. Make love, not war. Become the king or queen of your own life. Simplify your life. It’s an excellent year for healers and artists.”

And best of all? Venus is apparently more laid-back this year. Women will be pursued by men. It is, according to Lyvea, a “sexy and stylish” year.

Happy 2013. May your most delicious dreams and wildest desires come true. I know what mine are. I’d love to hear some of yours…

To find out more about the Woodford Folk Festival go to www.woodfordfolkfestival.com

Love, life and the whole season’s shebang

December 23, 2012December 23, 20128 Comments

Twas the night before Christmas

And all through Brisbane

The Global Goddess continued

Her hunt for some men

Her stockings were hung

On the back deck with care

With hope she could catch

Saint Nick in her lair…

MY Christmas tree is older than me. And, if possible, even daggier. This story begins some 46 years ago, when my parents were first married and bought their first Christmas tree. Every year that tree would come on holidays with us to the Gold Coast, shoved into the Kingswood with me, my three sisters, and our budgie. And every year it would return home with us. Until one day, one of our uncles gifted us a brand, spanking, new tree, and our original tree was retired.

Some years ago, I somehow stumbled across it and adopted it like a long, lost family member. I am not a particularly nostalgic person, and yet I love this tree. It speaks to me of sublime summers on the Gold Coast, hot, scratchy nights with sand in the sheets, sunburn on the skin and mozzies. Of bleached hair, sandcastles and waking up on Christmas morning to new summer swimmers, pink pyjamas and adventure books. That’s the thing with memories. You can’t muck around with them.

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The other day a friend was telling me about a sad scene he encountered while out shopping. Picture two little kids and their mother in a wheelchair. The kids were skipping along the path, excitedly chattering about the new clothes they were about to buy for Christmas. Until they arrived at the store and it was closed. The store was St Vincent’s de Paul and, being run by volunteers, was operating on limited hours. But these little kids didn’t know this and started crying. Their wheelchair-bound mother had what appeared to be a slight seizure. My friend froze. Impotent with the scenario unfolding before him and, with a wallet full of credit cards but no cash, unable to assist. He came home and wept.

An acquaintance of mine talks about his work Christmas party the other night. In a bid to survive the bullshit and big egos which have dogged him all year, he decided to bring his own festive cheer in the form of an illegal substance. It was this illegal substance which he was casually dipping into his drink when his bully of a boss came over, demanded my acquaintance hand over the drink to his boss, who couldn’t be bothered to wait at the bar for his own. Apparently, the boss was in an uncharacteristically jolly mood for the rest of the evening.

Everyone I talk to seems to speak of a tough year. The headlines have been peppered by sadness, loss, tragedy. Global economic conditions seem to have spawned a new breed of bully bosses. More and more people such as that woman in the wheelchair are buying their children clothes from charity shops.

But I also believe it’s a season for hope. I’ve personally asked Santa for a hot tradie under my daggy old Christmas tree, which, if it happens, could possibly constitute a break and enter, if not a miracle. It’s a time to rejoice and to reflect. Look towards the future with optimism. Try to be a better person. Express a bit of gratitude.

On that note, I wish to thank everyone who has followed, read, laughed and cried with The Global Goddess this year. I’ll be back in 2013 with more stories, more travels and, if Santa knows what’s good for him, maybe even a bloke or two.

If you have your own Christmas story to share, I’d love to hear it, via a comment below.

In the meantime, I wish you peace on earth.

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The Global Goddess

A single woman's journey

Category: dating