wanderings & wonderings

Bali. Early August. A day of bright sunshine and happiness laughing in the air. A day that makes you feel so glad to be alive and the earth shimmers with joy. At dawn the tendrils of cloud strung out across the heavens were a pastel palette of glowing colour ... dusky pink, soft peach, pale lavender, golden yellow, in no hurry as they drifted languidly across the silvery blueness of the sky. The silhouettes of Gunungs Agung, Abang and Batur stood sharp and clear against this

It sounds like a shoot out between gangs of Sicilian Mafiosi ending in the untimely death, or some might say the well overdue demise, of the much-feared Frangipani family. In actual fact it refers to gardening, of a sort. Central Bali. At the start of a season that should be dry and sunny during the day but which was still wet and overcast. Windy and cool. The occasional day of glorious sunshine reminding us that behind the clouds the sun always shines. He is just extremely

Ubud, Bali, in the hour after dawn. The ether shimmering in the soft, golden light of early morning. Birdsong and the distant melody of gamelans drift across a sea of emerald green rice fields on the wings of a cool, gentle breeze. In the woods by the house a cockerel crows and from the rafter above my head a large pink and turquoise tookae peers down at me, laughing in his croaky voice. Walking around the garden is a sensory delight. Flowers are in abundance everywhere. The

Bali. October 7th 2005. Six days after the second bombings. I arrived at Denpasar airport from Singapore in the late evening at a time when the airport is usually buzzing. How very different this night. The usual thirty-minute queue at Immigration was just a memory. Instead I walked straight through, the customary jovial banter and laughter with the officials replaced with intense words about the bombings and gratitude for still visiting their beautiful island. The baggage ha

Batuan, central Bali. A Wednesday at the beginning of February. The night’s darkness still blanketing the earth. I awoke cold and shivering, huddled under my duvet with the wind causing my mosquito net to billow over me. I screwed my eyes shut and drew my knees to my chest. Knowing I needed to shut the windows behind the bed and close out the draught if I was to have any hope of more sleep. I ignored it all. Willing sleep to come anyway. It had been a late night, by my stand

6/7/2006. Candidasa, south eastern Bali. On the edge of the dry season. Low dense cloud in shades of grey encircling the hills in a tight embrace. Cerulean blue skies peppered with luminous, puffy white clouds suspended over the ocean. A strong sea breeze carrying the seductive memory of far-flung lands leaving a salty aftertaste on my lips, rustling the leaves of the coconut palms high above my head as it passed by on its never-ending journey. A solitary charcoal-coloured co

16/7/2006 Central Bali, late June. The morning after the night before. A night where the earth moved for me, and countless others on the island. Another earthquake in the early hours. Measuring 4.5 on the Richter Scale, thirty three kilometres below the surface of the earth, felt across the southern part of the island. Thankfully no loss of life nor damage to property but yet another reminder to us all of the precariousness of living on the Ring of Fire. It left in its wake

How we manage our wellbeing is a matter of personal choice. It is something I am passionate about and an arena I have been working in for over 2 decades. In 2021, into our second year of the global SARS-CoV2 pandemic, more and more people are aware of the need to think about their wellbeing, about their wellness, as the stresses from living as we have to continue to take their toll. One thing I do every day is go out for what I call a bimble, a walk. Every day without fail, n

Sky dancing, early on a Friday evening, from Singapore to Bali. Six days after the second Bali bombings in October 2005. The aircraft has a 2-3-2 configuration. There are three Indians sitting behind me, to my right. A couple. Tiny, wizened, wrinkled like walnuts and the same colour. By the looks they are old in years, yet somehow young at heart with the wisdom of many lives in their auras. Eyes the colour of charcoal sparkling like diamonds in the sun. Scarlet bindis on thei

Part 1 : Bali 2006 Ubud, Bali. Late one Friday evening in July. In the circle of friends sharing laughter, good food and companionship. The songs of our chatter and the voices of frogs blending together in the cool, freshly-washed night air. Discussions over dinner bounced from one subject to another as we travelled round the globe on a journey from Bhutan to South Africa, the Maldives to Scotland, Singapore to England. From Thimpu to Cape Town, Male to Iona, Changi to Heath

the shrill ringing of my alarm clock competing with the raucous croaking of the frogs in the rice fields, piercing the peacefulness of my de

Bali, June 2006, the island lashed by uncharacteristically wild winds and heavy rains that blanketed the mountains in deep, dark cloud

I wandered into a dark broom-cupboard of a second-hand bookshop in Ubud, Bali a while ago. As I crossed its musty threshold I was ...

A cool, bright night in the rice fields. Not a whisper of wind rifling the mosquito net that fell in a waterfall of pale cream cloth from ..

Central Bali, gazing out of the window into the inky blackness that blankets the rice fields. A brief moment of darkness...

Early one Saturday morning in the middle of April. A day that dawned bright and clear and sunny. A canopy of endless blue sky ...

New Year almost upon us. I worked out the other day that in a six month period I celebrate not one but six new years. Lucky girl.