PLONKED in the South Pacific Ocean, some 1000km from anywhere, it would be easy to assume there’s little to do on Norfolk Island. Don’t. While this Australian territory is relatively remote, there’s so much to experience you’ll wish you’d stayed longer. Here’s my top 10 tips for a holiday here.
1. Learn the history
To understand Norfolk Island, you should first wrap your head around its history. And it’s beautifully complicated. To assist with this journey, head straight to the Kingston area where, among the preserved ruins of prisons, stately homes and other historic buildings, you’ll find four magnificent museums containing scores of relics which tell the story of the Pitcairn Islanders, the convicts, their jailors, and the settlers.
2. Meet a Norfolk Islander
By the time you’ve left Norfolk Island, you’ll be pretty convinced you’ve met every one of its 1600 permanent residents as they pop up everywhere, often working several jobs. To glean a sense of how the locals live, join Rhonda Griffiths on her new tour “The Contemporary Islander” which showcases her 130-year-old home built during the Melanesian Mission and some traditional island food and customs as well.
3. Explore Colleen McCullough’s house
You don’t even need to have read The Thorn Birds, of any of her other 26 books, to appreciate a visit to famed Australian author Colleen McCullough’s house. Baunti Escapes will take you to this beautiful haven where you can wander through the eclectic art collection which this writer, who died in 2015, loved so much.
4. Eat Locally
There’s some great cafes and restaurants on Norfolk Island. For breakfast on the verandah, served with a smile, head to the Olive. Delicious dining can be had at Hilli Restaurant and Dino’s, both beautiful buildings with some fine fare. To truly taste the island, out at Anson Bay, Hilli Goat Farm Tour allows you to meet the island’s only goats, and even milk them, before you indulge in a feast of goat’s cheese and Norfolk Pine smoked ham, among an array of treats.
5. Visit the island’s only winery
In what is one of Australia’s most remote wineries, you’ll find the friendly faces of Two Chimneys Wines owners Rod and Noelene McAlpine who planted their first grapes in 2003 and found that chambourcin was perfect for the Norfolk climate. These days they produce four different types of wine on the island, and several others on the mainland, and bottle 1500 a year. Noelene’s antipasto platters are legendary on the island.
6. Indulge in a massage
Seeking a cliff top massage? Then head to Bedrock along the deliciously-named Bullocks Hut Road where gifted remedial massage therapist Heidi will pummel your body to perfection while the ocean smashes the cliffs below. You’ll adore the views here from the specially-designed platforms after which you can indulge in tea, coffee and light lunches.
7. Take a ghost tour
Local historian Liz McCoy reckons Norfolk Island is one of the most haunted destinations in Australia. And with such a brutal history, it’s easy to see why. Join Liz on her Twilight Tour of the Kingston area and you may just experience a spook or two. Liz also restores the magnificent headstones in the cemetery and has a tawdry tale or two about her own ghostly encounters in the area.
8. Discover nature
You don’t have to look far to experience nature on Norfolk Island, it finds you. From its glorious National Parks to its incredible surrounding ocean, there’s plenty to satisfy the wildlife warrior within. Walk the National Parks, snorkel her reef, go sea kayaking, visit Cockpit Waterfall, and witness the sea birds on nearby Phillip Island. Norfolk Island even plants 100 pine trees for every resident who lives to a century. To date, there have been three, all women.
9. See a show
If you think there’s no entertainment on Norfolk Island, think again. One of the most delightful ways to spend a Wednesday afternoon is at the Ferny Lane Theatre, an old-style theatre where you can sit on a comfy couch, drink a glass of wine, and watch the Trial of the Fifteen play which gives an entertaining and informative overview of Norfolk’s history. On weekends, you can catch a movie at this same theatre. For something more contemporary, the Jolly Roger hosts live music five nights a week with jolly good meals to match.
10. Hire a moke
Despite measuring just 8km x 5km, Norfolk Island boasts 160km of roads. And one of the best ways to explore these is with the roof down. You can hire a Moke from MOKEabout and drive the island’s rolling green hills to your heart’s content. One of the pure delights of driving on Norfolk Island is that it’s customary to wave to passing cars and pedestrians, which is bound to leave a smile on your face. Oh, and cows get right of way.
The Global Goddess travelled as a guest of Norfolk Island Tourism – http://www.norfolkisland.com.au and Air New Zealand – http://www.airnewzealand.com; and stayed at Broad Leaf Villas – http://www.broadleafvillas.com
A TROPICAL low is lurking over Norfolk Island like a dark shroud, bringing squally, unpredictable weather in its wake. And I am sitting in what has become known as “Tent City”, rain licking the canvas walls, speaking with peaceful protestors about the storm which has been brewing between island residents and the Australian government.
I knew there had been some changes to this remote Australian territory but like many mainlanders, remained naïve to what, precisely, they were, and what they meant to the locals. In a nutshell, since 1979 until July 1, last year, Norfolk Island has been a self-administering territory with its own Legislative Assembly, a Chief Minister, its own health care, own GST, and Council of Elders who represent each of the eight original Pitcairn families who came to the island.
But last year, despite 68 per cent of Norfolk Islanders voting in a referendum to have their own say over their island, the Australian government appointed a regional council system, said they must now pay tax, and in return, would received mainland services such as Medicare. Which would be fine if these services were being received but locals claim they are not. Nor, do they believe they should be called Australians, given their rich history, but Norfolk Islanders.
Fly out of Australia and you’ll discover just what a confusing mess the situation is. Firstly, you fly out of an international airport, with your passport and fill out your immigration departure card. About 10 minutes into the flight, you will then be handed an immigration arrival card, asking you questions such as “how long did you spend overseas” and “in which country did you spend the most time”. Um, Australia? As for where you intend to stay, I was unclear whether they meant my Brisbane address or my Norfolk Island address, and I was told by Border Force officials that I’m not the only one confused by the changes. (For the record, Norfolk Island had its own arrivals card which worked beautifully, I am told). Now, try being a local. Drive from the airport and one of the first things you’ll encounter is a field of green hands, known as Hands Up For Democracy, which is intended as a “silent protest in the paddock”.
Down at the Kingston, on the site of the former Legislative Assembly, you’ll find Tent City. Norfolk Island Tent City resident Mary Christian-Bailey, 73, has lived on the island for 50 years and has been part of a peaceful protest since April 29 last year.
“The message is we want the right to determine our own future. It doesn’t mean we want independence but we want a choice,” she says.
“Australia has to fulfill its obligations to list us as a self-governing territory with the United Nations. Australia has tried to rewrite history and say we are just a part of the Australian story.
“We’ve got a lot of friends all over the world, including the British Parliament, working with us. I don’t think Malcolm Turnbull even thinks we exist. When the legislation when through the Australian Parliament there were about five people in the Chamber. Most of them wouldn’t know why they’ve done it or how it’s affected us in any way.”
While some back on the mainland claim Norfolk Island residents are angry about having to become taxpayers, locals say they have no issue with tax, but a lack of services. They claim the Norfolk Island Hospital has been transformed from a hospital to a GP clinic, and there is no surgeon on the island. Pregnant women are forced to leave the island at 32 weeks to live on the mainland and in the case of an emergency, injured or sick locals are medivacked off the island in an operation which can take 6 hours to mobilise. Residents claim there have been 40 medivacs since July 1, at an approximate cost of $30,000 a time. Then there’s the issue of postal delivery and rubbish collection, as well as repairs on their potholed roads.
“Most people can’t see that there have been any benefits under the Australian government. It has happened on the basis of ignorance and lies. They could have worked with us but they’ve just ignored local knowledge and expertise,” Mary says.
“Trying to transplant the island into a completely different system has been very stressful for the older people. We have no problem with the Australian people, we have a lot in common with them. But we are pretty disappointed with their government.
“They have a real colonial, imperialistic attitude. We will sit here as long as it takes. We are a strong proud people with a strong proud heritage.”
And indeed they are. Norfolk Island is a place of immense beauty born of its remote and rugged locale. You’ll feel the history in the bones of the remaining stone buildings, which once housed some of the most brutal captors and some hardcore convicts. It’s a place of a scallywags, sailors, whalers, the lost and found and those still searching for something. This isolated island, 1000km from anywhere, will snatch a piece of your spirit and make you think hard. But go there, you must. Particularly if you are Australian. Despite being a tiny 8km x 5km, there’s plenty of places in which to disappear on this destination. Space to be alone. To contemplate this former convict settlement which possesses such natural charm. Walk in nature, dine on local food, feast on history, snorkel her reef and meet her characters.
Islander and local guide Rhonda Griffiths believes Norfolk Island possesses a masculine energy.
“You will notice how few roads are named after women. It’s always been about the bounty mutineers. We’ve never had a female Chief Minister and women are paid a lot less than men,” she says.
“I feel the strength of the island more than the nurturing.”
But Tania Anderson, of Norfolk Island Tourism, believes it’s more feminine.
“People are gentle here, but inside there is a toughness to some extent. It is a country town and small community but we are isolated,” she says.
“Our heritage is from Tahitian women and English sailors. There is something about a lot of the local women which is that island beauty.
“People say ‘what do you do on Norfolk?’. We never stop. On Norfolk you just have to get on with things.”
And get on with things they will.
The Global Goddess travelled as a guest of Norfolk Island Tourism – http://www.norfolkisland.com.au and stayed at Broad Leaf Villas – http://www.broadleafvillas.com. For more photos of her stay visit Instagram @aglobalgoddess
THE Pacific Ocean is swooshing into the shore on this sizzling summer afternoon and if I listen carefully, I can almost hear the waves whispering the word Noosa on the outward tide. In local Aboriginal dialect Noosa means “shade” or “shadows” and it’s a fitting descriptor as tourists flock to the pandanus trees lining Noosa Main Beach. From my privileged perch on my balcony of Netanya Noosa Resort, I watch the shadows grow longer and at sunset, Noosa blushes pink, just like the young bride having her photo taken on the beach.
I eat a Eumundi steak I’ve sourced from Netanya’s Providore on Hastings, the only deli around these parts, and which I’ve cooked for myself on my balcony barbecue. A family in wet togs and sporting sun-kissed, salty hair, sits just outside the resort on the grassy knoll and eats pizza, in no rush on this languid Sunday to head back to balmy Brisbane. As for me, for once I have all the time in the world, and in the early evening, I make like the Italians and replicate that lovely tradition of La Passeggiata…the evening promenade through the main street of town. In this case, it’s Hastings Street where I stop for gelati, ordering a single, sugary scoop of chocolate ice cream. I stroll towards the Esplanade, swirling the creamy texture around my tongue, and pausing to dig my feet into the now cool sand.
I’m on my first travel writing assignment for 2017 and I’m relieved it’s in my own backyard of Queensland. After a brief break, I need to find my feet again. Get back on that bike, which is apt as my first task of the year is to undertake a mountain bike tour through Tewantin National Park. When I was asked whether I’d like to do a new cycling tour for several stories I’m writing about Noosa’s natural side, I jumped at the chance, imagining mounting a mint green retro bike and gliding along some beachfront Esplanade. In my fantasy I would be wearing a colourful summer frock and scarf, and the wind would be blowing my hair in precisely the right direction. I laughed when I realised it was a mountain bike tour but it’s something I’m glad I do, in equal parts cursing some aspects of my job in the summer heat and pleased I’m out of my comfort zone, yet again. The next day, I do a five-hour kayak tour through the Noosa Everglades.
In recent years I’ve been out of my comfort zone so many times for work that I feel I almost need to start training for my job. I’m a travel writer, not a stunt woman, I want to scream some days, secretly pleased I’m being physically pushed, particularly as I enter middle age.
Yes, I’m not the same girl I used to be and neither is Noosa. You see, Noosa used to be oh, so posh. But these days, it’s for everyone. On my second evening on my beach balcony, a young couple sits on the grass and drinks red wine from a cask. No one bats an eyelid. Sure, you can still spot the southerners, the blokes conspicuous in their boat shoes and crisp chinos and the women in their white linen with just a dash too much makeup for a Queensland summer.
In a couple of days they’ll figure Noosa out once they’ve sat long enough on that famed Aromas sidewalk.
Across from the Surf Club, Betty’s Burgers is now an empire, but it’s not the Betty of old with her $1 burgers she used to sell from a shop window in the middle of Hastings Street. According to local legend, these owners also had a relative called Betty and these days a burger will set you back $10. As for the original Betty, she now grows and sells herbs to local restaurateurs.
I stop for lunch at the Surf Club on my last day and am joined by a curious little girl from the next table. She pulls up a perch, watches me eat and we talk about travel. She’s six and she’s flown from Sydney to be in Noosa. We find common ground talking about planes. She wants to build a sandcastle but has left her spade and bucket back home in Sydney. I tell her she can use her hands. There’s lemonade back at her hotel in the fridge, she says.
And then, out of the blue she exclaims: “I love Noosa.”
“Me too,” I smile. Me too.
The Global Goddess was a guest of Netanya Noosa http://www.netanyanoosa.com, which has been a Noosa favourite since 1995 and has recently undergone a facelift and opened Providore on Hastings. There’s 47 beachfront luxury apartments in this complex which is 100 per cent smoke free with smoking not permitted anywhere on the property including balconies, roof tops, apartments, corridors and the pool.
The Global Goddess also travelled with the assistance of Tourism Noosa http://www.visitnoosa.com.au
THE most delicious things happen when you scrape off the exterior. Sand yourself back and prime yourself to move forward. January has proven to be just that at my house. After 16 years I decided to give my crumbling, rumbling, beautiful Queenslander workers’ cottage a facelift. It was much-needed cosmetic, and a little bit of emergency, surgery. We’ve survived 16 harsh Australian summers of scorching, peeling heat, punctuated by fierce storms and flooding rains, this old girl and I. Oh yes, the sunburnt country we all love has taken its toll on me and my house. Wood rot, pernickety possums with their scratchy claws, ballsy bush rats, scrub turkeys and my beloved wild snake have all burrowed into her psyche and the outside walls. And something had to give.
My builder/painter Gregg arrived on a typical tropical day where the humidity slides right off you like a melting ice cream. I’d selected a grey palate for my paint job, thinking it was befitting of my 1920s cottage which was nearing her first century. Little did I know there were 50 shades of grey from which to choose, nor did I realise that this summer I’d understand that life comes in those same 50 shades.
Gregg smoked and swore like a sailor and so much for both of us, that I found I gave up swearing. I’ve never been a smoker so that wasn’t a problem. But he also worked bloody hard under that hot Australian sun. Brisbane in January? What a bugger of a job. Humidity is your worst enemy and sleep is as rusty as my old gate. But soon we found our rhythm. I adopted his tradie hours, rising with the sun and working until early afternoon until the heat got the better of us. Gregg scraping and painting outside, hammering nails, and me inside, writing in symphony. We’d stop occasionally to chat, about lives we’d left behind. Pasts we’d rather forget and of futures we were looking forward to. Gregg, 48, had recently married the love of his life Fiona. He gave me dating advice. “You’ll just know, darl.”
This rough, big bloke and I slowly forming a bond and friendship as the old paint, and our natural walls, fell away. Again and again I was reminded that life comes in 50 shades of grey. You can’t judge a book by its cover, and don’t even bother buying wine with a fancy label. It’s what’s underneath that peeling paint that counts. And day by day my house transformed, from what Gregg described as “old, mouldy green” to contemporary grey.
He clipped away the trees that had been pushing on the front fence, and one day asked me why I was “hiding”. Isn’t it funny? You don’t even realise what you’re doing until someone points it out. Meditation and yoga teachers believe the concept of “house” equals “self”. And here I was, crouched behind the bushes, hiding from the world. And so we chopped away at that notion, and opened it up, keeping just enough shade and privacy, but allowing in the light.
I like that idea. Letting in the light. Gregg painted me a white picket fence, the “great Australian dream” kind. And joked now I just needed the bloke. My letter box was splashed in a shimmer that would make any Mardi Gras parade proud. Another shade of grey used to tie together the white and the dark grey of the walls. I grew accustomed to Gregg and looked forward to his daily quirky company. On those hot days when my mind wandered from my work, I imagined myself as Frances Mayes in her Villa in Tuscany, with her rabble of foreign workers knocking down walls and painting everything fresh.
And then, the day came when the job was done. I asked Gregg what I would do without him. “A bit of (expletive deleted) gardening wouldn’t go astray,” he laughed, referring to the wild Aussie bush I like to keep at the back of my house in the tree tops, and the much-neglected garden patch out the front. A green thumb, I am not. For years I’ve wanted to fill the pits surrounding my draw bridge entry with crocodiles, to sort the men out from the boys. Apparently they won’t let you do that in Brisbane. Then, on his last day on the job, Gregg and the lovely Fiona arrived to plant me a beautiful garden. He’s that sort of bloke.
It’s interesting how you grow used to the daily presence of someone. Gregg taught me the difference between oil-based and water-based decking oil. The importance of using good quality paint on a house which has to withstand Australia’s harsh climate. How a nail with a screw design won’t pop out under the demands of our sun but an ordinary nail will drive you nuts. But most of all he taught me, like my house, that we all come in 50 shades of grey.
If you are looking for a quality painter with a building licence as well (a rarity in Brisbane I can tell you), someone who will go above and beyond, and who charges reasonable prices, contact Gregg on: 0458 572 523 (and tell him his new journo mate sent you).
ON a balmy Brisbane evening I am slouched under a magnificent tree, savouring a plate of colourful African fare and sipping a Tusker malt lager. There’s but a whisper of a wind on this hot summer evening, just enough to scatter the tree’s tiny white flowers onto the faded tablecloth like confetti. The flowers fall into my hair and onto my head, like little sparks of inspiration.
I’m at Mu’ooz Eritrean Restaurant in West End, surrounded by fellow writers, artists, poets, singers and daydream believers, attending Wild Readings. I blew in here a little like the white flowers, an invitation from a friend to join this underground movement of creatives, who gather on the third Tuesday of every month. It is here that they soak up the collective juices, which are threatened with drought when you are alone for too long in a big city, stalked by the shadows of conformity.
The host opens the night by describing Wild Readings as a “public series for the storyteller in all of us.”
“We’d like to build a community of storytellers and people who just want to listen to words,” she says.
There are four readings in this delicious hour, Alanna uses art to tell stories about mental health and is reading from her book called “The Letter R” for Resilience. You need a lot of resilience to be a writer anywhere in the world, and it’s apt for this setting in which I find myself.
Tina is a published author and runs a children’s and young adults’ writers conference in Brisbane, fuelling the fire of future generations of crazy creatives.
Really, they should be building asylums for those of us insane enough to keep striking the keyboard in a world which begs us to do otherwise. And yet, thank God, we continue.
Annie, a program co-ordinator for newly-arrived refugees, picks up a ukulele and strums her story. There are others, a couple of poets and an author, but it’s Annie and her uke which strike a literal and metaphorical chord with me this evening.
I didn’t leave the house expecting to find a story, but in this salacious setting how could I not? Not only am I inspired by the passion and prose of my fellow artists, but Mu’ooz itself is a not-for-profit social enterprise, established by Eritrean Refuge Women, which assists women arriving in Brisbane from many parts of Africa.
Shortly before the evening begins, I stumble across Manager Saba Abraham, who opened the West End location three years ago and since then has provided training and employment for more than 100 refugee women.
“We provide a pathway to employment with many of the women now employed in other places including schools, factories and cleaning jobs,” she says.
“The program aims to give them confidence and help them understand the workforce.
“Women refugees have minimal employment opportunities and many of them have never had any education in their country, therefore finding it extremely challenging in Australia, to learn the language and secure employment.
“Many of them feel like this is home to them, it is much more than a workplace.”
Saba tells me the business is not without its challenges, rents in West End are high and there is still a disconnect between mainstream Australia and what they are trying to achieve, even in this socially-progressive suburb.
Which is a great shame, as the food here is different and delicious, boasting many dishes and ingredients even a well-travelled Australian palate may have never tasted such as Enjera – savoury purple pancakes; Silsie – a traditional Eritrean sauce; Berbere – traditional hot pepper seasoning; and Tasame – butter flavoured with Eritrean herbs and spices.
I sip on my second Tusker malt lager, a beer I’ve never encountered before – and the white leaves keep falling on my head, urging me to write this story. A tale of a little courtyard in Brisbane, a meeting of people with big hearts and those cursed with that damn desire to write.
We are gathered on the traditional land of the Jagera, Yuggera and Yuggerapul people and we pay homage to them. A Yuggera elder has penned a Welcome to Country for us: “Everything sits in a circle around us. When we open ourselves to looking and listening it allows us to connect with Mother Earth, everyone’s Mother.”
On this hot night, I embrace the circle of refugees and creatives and watch as those tiny flowers keep falling, reminding me to keep writing.
The next Wild Readings will be held on Tuesday, Feb 21 at Mu’ooz West End at 6pm for 6.30pm. You can join Wild Readings on their Facebook page. To dine at Mu’ooz and support their incredible work, go to http://www.muooz.com.au
THIS is a tale of scoundrels, scallywags and sailing and it begins with me losing my credit card on my first day in Bali on my last trip of 2016. I have no one else but myself to blame for this mishap, the effects of two champagnes and several red wines enroute adding to the utter delirium of approaching the invisible finishing line of another working year and causing me to lose focus. And so I simply went to a cash machine, withdrew $200 worth of Indonesia rupiah, and left my card in the ATM, never to be seen again.
It took me a good hour to realise my folly by which time my card had well and truly be swallowed by the machine, or was being given a good, old workout by a Balinese man claiming to be a blonde, Australian woman with a non-Indonesian name. I cancelled my card and did what any Australian in a foreign land on their own without any ready source of cash would do…went to the nearest beach bar and ordered a Bintang. The healing powers of alcohol should never be underestimated in my opinion, and it was only several sips in that I realised there was a solution to my problem. And so I emailed a mate I hadn’t seen in some 20 years, my only friend in Bali, and wondered whether he might like to turn up to a lunch we were having the next day with a cool $500 cash.
This is the other thing I love about Australians. We tend to be pretty decent people, particularly when another Aussie is in strife and my old mate Richard Laidlaw, who by the way pens the most excellent Hector’s Diary https://8degreesoflatitude.com
from his Bali home, barely battered an eyelid, turning up with a wad of cash, not unlike a pimp. But I digress. That very morning I was being picked up by another Aussie, Amanda Zsebik, who owned the ship on which I would be sailing for the next 9 days around Indonesia.
I confessed the previous night’s utter stupidity to Amanda enroute to Al likai, and suspected she too, would curse my carelessness. But instead, she offered her view on Bali which has been her home for more than a decade.
“The energy in Bali takes your money. Many of us come to Bali to learn a life lesson quickly whether it is losing money or screwing up a relationship,” Amanda says.
“I’ve really seen the dark side of Bali, I love it, it’s my home, but you learn an enormous amount of respect for it.
“I don’t think they are bad people but in karmic terms they are having a Bali life to learn the dark side of nature.
“I’ve had black magic on me and spent two years in hospital. Bali has an incredible positive energy but there is a dark side to it too.”
So powerful is this dark side that not only does Amanda wear a black coral bracelet on her right wrist to protect against the black magic of which she speaks, but the words “light and love” are tattooed on her left ankle.
Richard, who along with his partner Lea Crombie joined us aboard Al likai for lunch before we set sail, believes the future of Bali will be “the same shit, but more of it”.
“The Balinese were rich in a self-sustaining way but then people arrived with money. There were the artists of the 30s but it was really when the airport opened in the 60s and the surfers started arriving in the 70s. They would see these guys coming and knew they had money and they wanted it,” he says.
“I think its edge, in regional terms, is it is not Muslim. There is nothing wrong with places that are, but you must accept there are restrictions on the western style of life in a Muslim place.
“There is a sort of mystery to the east. The social structure here is so strong that local religion is not really threatened by western secularism. They are prepared to let people party on.
“I think they have been playing everyone for suckers for decades and I say ‘well done guys’.”
Despite its negatives, Bali remains a place for rule breakers, scoundrels, scallywags, and the sailors I mentioned before. And Amanda, 60, who once called upmarket Rose Bay her permanent home, fits into at least one of these categories, offering sailing journeys which take travellers beyond Bali. On the particular trip on which I join her, we travel east from Bali in the direction of Timor, in a journey which will take us to remote eastern islands, to snorkel with the most sublime of sea creatures and to Komodo, to see the dragons. Over 9 days we’ll travel 350 nautical miles which will take 50 hours of sailing.
On the first day of sailing I ask Amanda, who has completed this journey many times, what draws her to this part of the region.
“I don’t have a favourite place because every place is different and every time we get in the water there will be a different thing to look at. I love swimming with the mantas,” she says.
“The thing I love is the constant moving. Spiritually, only 10 per cent of humans are spiritually awake. Jung talks about this. Those 10 per cent who have to see what’s around the horizon or over the next hill.
“It doesn’t matter where I go, just as long as I’m going. The challenge is to find stillness within the motion.”
The stillness within the motion. Her words stick with me during the entire journey. On the rare occasions that I’m sea sick, and on others when I’m sitting out on the deck in the early evening, contemplating the wild ride that has been 2016, and wondering what 2017 will bring. I focus long and hard on this mantra and then one afternoon, as the sun is dipping below the ocean, snorkelling the warm waters off of Gili Trawangan, I concentrate on one particular green turtle, gently lazing and grazing along the ocean floor. And in that one golden moment, the motion finally stops and the stillness begins.
The Global Goddess travelled as a guest of Al likai. For more information on the boat and her sailing itineraries go to http://www.indonesianislandsail.com
Follow me on Instagram @aglobalgoddess