After a vigil of 10 days, with his family always in attendance, and despite a few promising signs for a partial recovery along the way, he took a turn for the worse on the 25th and slowly slipped away. The boys and I jumped on a plane but were just a few hours too late to say goodbye.
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| Feed 'em meat Dick |
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| Rest In Peace |
We have been back in Sydney since then. Feelings have been mixed as the Stacks dealt with their loss, but also it has been a time for catching up with old friends and family: and of course making up for lost time with some surfing. The relatively placid Med just cant deliver that dynamic frisson that only a surfer knows. All the boys have enjoyed re-aquainting themselves with the Pacific.
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| Weeeeeeere back! |
An offer from the Mackinnons saw us spending a week in their snazzy Bondi home only just around the corner from our house - it was almost too easy to settle into that easy Bondi Beach spring weekend mode: not to mention movies, TV, and commonwealth games.
Somehow 4 weeks have slipped away since we arrived. The various arrangements have taken time, and the boys even put in a week at school (they were desperate to go) which was a nice respite for us and for them. I particularly enjoyed the rhythm of the last week: dropping the boys off, grabbing a coffee at Greens Cafe, and heading down for a leisurely surf each morning.
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| Not complaining on a school day |
On the strength of an auspicious forecast one morning, I took advantage of being at Northbridge to head over to South Curl Curl, my old stamping ground. In a word: cranking. After a few earlier forgettable outings it was pleasing that this creaky 43 year old had rediscovered at least a little of the old mojo.
As I paddled around the lineup it slowly dawned on me that I recognised a lot of the faces in the water. They were 10-15 years older but they were still there, balding, ageing, doing the same old thing, only wagging work now instead of school when the swell was on. I wasn't sure whether to be supremely impressed or supremely dismissive. The array of tradies vans in the car park rammed it home though: work life balance is king. Why did I move into town again? Is it too late to resurrect the Able Handyman from the pyrrhic success of a city career?
We have now booked our tickets to fly out Monday morning, so thankfully such questions will remain moot until we return, until the insanity that is life and work in the city is once again causing slumped shoulders and stress knots in the stomach. The weather forecast for Naples is for rain and chilly conditions, although hopefully we will see a few post 20 degree days later in the week before the inevitable descent into icy winter.
We hope to chase the sun down to Sicily and then Tunisia before packing up Familia and putting her up for sale. After that some land time beckons, perhaps settling in somewhere, surfing in Portugal's Algarve region, or perhaps Andalucian Spain, where the worst of the ravages of a European winter might pass us by (but not those North Atlantic swells)
Impressions of Sydney
When we first arrived back, the drive from the airport along the eastern beaches only reinforced our jingoistic views about Australia, Sydney and Bondi: now we've seen a large chunk of what Europe has to offer we can confidently say it dont come close. That white crescent of sand we call home and indeed all the others up and down the coast have a particularly antipodean allure that simply cant be matched.
The feeling was enhanced when I delivered Moya, our Sydney yacht, up to Pittwater for her annual service one afternoon after the mandatory morning romp amongst Bondi's finest. I motorsailed past Neilsen park and out through the heads; the mutton birds surfed the wind off the bow while I marvelled in the view down toward the bridge. By Long Reef the wind angle was good enough to turn off the donk and she headed effortlessly into the 15kt nor-easter under full canvas. I worked the main with the helm locked off and trimmed the sails to steer her in the absence of a functioning autopilot - a particularly sublime pleasure that Joshua Slocum would have approved of. Off Warriewood a couple of whales sounded no more than 50 m off the bow before they realised I was there and headed for the depths. Arriving in Pittwater I was once again taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place: Palm Beach headland, The National Park, the Basin.
We've entered a lot of harbours in the last 6 months and I can tell you that while some might equal, none can eclipse those that are right here on our doorstep. Maybe coming back in 6 months wont be so tough after all.
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