Key Words/Phrases

When I’m out in public, I will often guide my mind (and hence emotions) to less stressful states than I start the journey with.

I might tell myself to ‘just notice’ the sensations in my body, perhaps focusing on a specific part of it, like my neck or stomach. 

I tell myself I am a Person of Conviction. I tell myself that feeling comfortable is more important than performing feminist body language to passers-by. I remind myself to relax. 

At home, I listen to self-development podcasts like ‘Unf*ck Your Brain’. Today I ventured outside my comfort zone with 2 hours of reading. 

I care about eating delicious-tasting vegetables every meal, and enjoy putting it into practice. 

Sometimes I let myself down, and then forgiveness is hard. I make less time for self-compassion. But I try to get back to that.

I am learning.

Decision-making in Paris

I’ve come across many variations of the sentiment ‘You could spend years in Paris and not see everything’, so when visiting a city where analysis paralysis is always a possibility, how did I narrow down my options?

First of all, I looked for attractions close to my accommodation, in the 12th arrondissement. Paris’ official tourism website informed me that the Museum of the History of Immigration was on the edge of the district, reachable by a walk of about 25 mins. The theme of this museum appealed to my long-standing interest in immigration, anti-racism, French culture, anthropology, sociology and history. Visiting would be consistent with my values of supporting multiculturalism and educating myself on controversial issues. Furthermore, it was off the beaten path, meaning fewer other travellers to compete for space with. A decision was made.

Looking at the map, I realised that the 12th shared a border with the 4th, which meant that I could easily reach it by public transport. Thanking my luck, I resolved to spend all my free time there.

As you already know, I had a travel companion, my Dad. I took his preferences and needs into account, so we spent one of our first days walking from the Louvre to the Champs-Elysées, choosing a café/bar on the famous road and watching everybody go by, and finally dining at a fancy restaurant there called Fouquet.

I had a recommendation from my Mum, who once spent a month in Paris, of visiting the Petit Palais. I had decided before setting foot in Paris that I would prioritise this sight, as it resonated with my values of viewing beautiful fine art. 

Mum had also spoken favourably of the Carnavalet Museum, and, upon doing my own research on the 4th arrondissement attraction, I realised I was curious enough about the history of the city to prioritise it. Its position off the beaten path added to the appeal.

Finally, I had the vague idea of locating the Place des Vosges, which I was able to actualise, following a sign chanced upon while doing the flâneur thing.

And there you have it. My four full days in the megacity encompassed a kaleidoscope of experiences, leaving me grateful for this opportunity to revisit the city that looms large in so many imaginations, and have a distinctively Epiphanie time there.

A Memory of Hamburg

I had planned to take my time wandering around HafenCity's little commercial hub before selecting the most appropriate restaurant, but suddenly rain started quickening my pace and saw me dart into the nearest open eatery. 

This turned out to be a franchise, Katzentempel, which served vegetarian or vegan food, while providing customers with the company of freely roaming cats. I seem to remember that the cats had been former strays. They looked healthy and comfortable in the invitingly warm space. 

I was worried about the rain drenching me on the way back home, but I tried to find a little solace in the obvious contentment of the felines. There were three or four of them, and the two that wandered my way were grey, and orange-and-white. I watched a fair youngster with a nasal piercing stroke the radiant creature at their feet. I could see the steady rhythm of the cat's breath through its body, and thought about both living beings being changed for the better by this experience. 

I was served a 'Rainbow Bowl', which featured mock chicken and sliced mango (among other brightly coloured items of vegetables and protein) on a bed of rice. I wondered how often the cats were treated to morsels from the diners, and whether this was discouraged. Although I couldn't finish the sizeable portion, I left it on the table (so as not to contribute to overfeeding). 

I hadn't intended to come back to Hamburg as soon as 2024, but my parents had been curious about it after viewing my photos of the Town Hall, and incorporated the northern city into their European Summer plans. I revisited that site with them, and saw it from a new angle (this time with rain). But the Katzentempel stands out as a truly novel, serendipitous experience. 

After paying I lingered in the pleasant space, hoping the rain would stop, or at least ease up. Nobody seemed to mind. The orange-and-white cat lay down close to me, so I bent down to give it a pat. There was something soothing about it, but mostly I was anxious at the prospect of getting drenched, so I felt like I was reaching for a transcendent moment that never quite arrived. 

Instead of offering just one concept, Katzentempel offers two: Cat Café meets Health Food Restaurant. You can find out more about them here. 

Why I prefer Hannover to Paris

I got into the Parisian spirit, sashaying around new sights (like the 12th arrondissement, the Petit Palais and Musée Carnavalet) and old (Le Marais and the Champs-Elysées) alike, and finding that I prefer Paris over London (just like I did in 2008).

But the moment I got off the plane, into Hannover, I felt my mood lift. The freshness of the air! The lesser density of the built environment! People I loved, and community members who were often friendly to me!

I’m not the only travel blogger who finds this underrated Northern German city friendly, yet when it comes to other visitors, they are delightfully scarce in all but the most central of places. Even in summer, I am usually the only non-German in my neighbourhood.

I haven’t spilt much ink on Hannover, in part because I wish to protect the privacy of my friends there, in part because it’s difficult to distill months of experiences into a blog post… and probably in part due to other reasons which might be articulated later. 

I’m one of those people who reads those lists of ‘Most Liveable Cities’ and takes note. Copenhagen, Vienna and Melbourne? I’ll make a point of incorporating them into my travels. London and Tokyo? I may visit, but I’ll feel overwhelmed by the clamour and sheer number of people sharing the space. Paris is perhaps the most relaxed megacity, and it’s possible I may visit again, but Hannover has the wide, inviting streets, an abundance of green growth, a manageable size, user-friendly public transport, affordability (within Germany), and people have more time for you if you need help or extra attention. 

Hannover is a lovely place to spend time in, and I’ve been very lucky to do so. Hopefully I’ll be back there in 2026!

Behind the Scenes of My ‘Le Marais’ Post

Now that I have more time to reflect on my travels, I’d like to share with you little fragments and asides that didn’t make it into my original ‘Le Marais’ post. 

In point form:

a) “I felt like I was a cat chasing a light beam, as I strolled the touristy but elegant backstreets.” 

I was lucky enough to spot a black-and-white cat scratching itself in the middle of a traffic-free street, before returning to its owners in their shop and disappearing from sight.

Before I really got into the flâneur spirit of things, I had some hesitation: was the neighbourhood too touristy to make for good sight-seeing? Would pick-pocketing be an issue?  This led to tension in my body that first morning, but it would dissolve upon becoming familiar with the area and feeling safe and comfortable.

b) “The passing Parisians were few in the morning, making for some nice sensory experiences.”

Apart from scattered pedestrians that were probably on their way to work, I did notice quite a few deliverypeople active in the area, unloading the premium products that people with greater means would eventually consume. Their well-worn and faded fabrics conveyed their working class status. I thought about how they were Essential Workers, who ensured the city was running smoothly, yet didn’t get the appreciation they deserved. Later, I would come across a painting of historical deliverypeople in front of a boulangerie in the Petit Palais, and thought about their valuable service to society.

c) “I enjoyed a café latte there”

It was €6.

d) “a small restaurant for Tunisian street food,”

A part of me wanted to mention the Senegalese restaurant ‘Le Petit Dakar’ too, 

but I thought it was best to keep the references simple and uncluttered. I could also have mentioned the Brazilian boutique clothing store, 

or the sushi restaurant, 

the Japanese bubble tea shop, the Museum of Magic, the wine shop and restaurant from the region of the Pyrenees which was staffed by a Moldovan person, the Central Russian Yiddish restaurant, 

Krispy Kreme, Desigual, ‘Kosher Pizza’, the Vietnamese café, the little library with a large map of Paris on its back wall, the statue of a child (or was it an angel) above a body of water, and other discoveries.

e) “a micro-park dedicated to a gay man, the Carnavalet Museum (a pleasure to photograph from outside, and also brimming with beauty on the inside)”

The micro-park was just opposite the Carnavalet Museum, which is about the history of Paris. 

There was a temporary exhibition on Agnes Varda, one of whose films I have seen and enjoyed, but there were so many people queueing to see it that I decided to give it a miss. I would later recognise the name of one of the prominent personalities of Paris represented in the Carnavalet Museum bestowed upon the street I was having lunch on: Madame Sevigné was an upper class person known for their letters during their life-long residence in Le Marais. 

f) “a highly regarded crêpe restaurant where I had a salad with sliced gallette rolls on my first visit and a gallette with foie gras on my last”

At La Ciderie du Marais, I ordered a ‘Nordic Salad’ which was so good that I had the same dish the next day: the gallette rolls were filled with smoked salmon, cream cheese and lettuce. 

On the third day I remembered a recommendation from my hotel receptionist to try foie gras, and I enjoyed it very much. It had a light beige colour, a smooth and delicate texture, and a subtle flavour. (Unfortunately, I have since learnt that it’s produced in an unethical way, and now I will think twice about having it again.)

*

Please note that I will be adding photos to this post in about a week or two! I can’t do this on my smartphone due to some technical complications, but I will be returning to Sydney soon… so remember to come back! :)

Le Marais

Back in Hannover, I can reflect on last week’s 4-day trip to Paris.

Le Marais has been on my list of geographical locales to wander around (or as the French would say, be a flâneur in) for some time… Learning about its existence as the gaybourhood from a film called ‘Paris, Je T’aime’, I first journeyed there in 2008. I hung around in a lesbian bar, where I learned that Parisian queer women also choose to be accountants at a higher than usual rate, like their Sydney counterparts. (I imagine it has to do with financial stability, when other parts of your life offer upheaval.)

Since then, I’d heard that the district (also known as the 4th arrondissement) had gentrified. The internet told me that, while prices had gone up, there hasn’t been a new gaybourhood to definitively emerge, so if I wanted a dose of queer (and Jewish) culture, it was the place to be.

I loved my 2025 trip there more than my 2008 one: I visited in the mornings, when the refracted light rectangles from windows catching the sunshine lay on the tall, pale facades. I felt like I was a cat chasing a light beam, as I strolled the touristy but elegant backstreets. 

The passing Parisians were few in the morning, making for some nice sensory experiences. When I say ‘touristy’ I am thinking about English language signs which were the only language of communication. I entered a small, glamorous café called ‘City of Light’ which seemed particularly beautiful in sleek whites and velvety port pinks. Under-lit and overpriced, I enjoyed a café latte there, while asking the barista about the salads of the area and not meeting with an actionable recommendation. 

Along the way, over three days, I found a Swedish Institute, an educational institution dedicated to environmental sustainability, a small restaurant for Tunisian street food, plaques commemorating Jewish residents who had called Le Marais home until they were tragically abducted and killed by the Nazis, a micro-park dedicated to a gay man, the Carnavalet Museum (a pleasure to photograph from outside, and also brimming with beauty on the inside), a highly regarded crêpe restaurant where I had a salad with sliced gallette rolls on my first visit and a gallette with foie gras on my last…

By the third day I’d invited my Dad to enjoy the neighbourhood with me, and enjoy he did. We found our way to the Place des Vosges, a small, square park with four fountains (one near every corner), and a giant statue of a former king on a horse. Even though it was popular with locals and tourists alike, we managed to acquire a shaded bench to sit on and people-watch from. We had a box of cherries with us, Dad’s favourite fruit, and they were lovely.

I left the park before I’d had my fill of it, due to the sudden influx of American tourists generating uncomfortable levels of noise behind us, but we had time to drop by a few of the many upmarket art galleries surrounding it.

An honourable mention goes to a little courtyard lined with small businesses that I stumbled upon. There was nobody to be seen there, but a sign informed me that it was a little space to be enjoyed in times of greater activity. Additionally, a small, concrete square was lined with restaurants and looked charmingly stylish. A peek inside the most popular one turned up rustic decor with eclectic lamps in all sorts of colours.

Close to the church of St Paul (where the metro gets its name from), I loved to see a store which I had seen in other parts of France, Pylones. I acquired a few things from there, including gifts. There was a patisserie called Miss Manon where I savoured a chocolate eclair on my first day, and an artisan chocolate shop were I tried a sample of something crunchy.

All in all, Le Marais offered pleasurable moments aplenty!

Future Travels?

In the event that I can continue visiting Europe for my holidays, the list of destinations below can act as a guide:

a) Bruges & Ghent

b) Lille

c) Colmar, Strasbourg, Riquewihr, Eguisheim, Freiburg im Breisgau, Baden-Baden

d) Rothenburg ob der Tauber

e) Dresden

f) San Sebastian & Bordeaux

g) The Hague, Rotterdam, Utrecht, Giethoorn

h) Alberobello

i) Taormina, Siracusa, Noto

j) Bolzano

k) Lake Como & Lake Garda

l) Vienna, Hallstatt, Salzburg, Innsbruck

m) Munich, Mittenwald, Füssen & Neuschwanstein

n) Bamberg

o) Regensburg, Augsberg, Würzburg, Dinkelsbühl

p) Siena

q) Bremen*

r) Tomar, Tavira, Lisbon

s) Madeira

t) Corsica

u) Greek Islands

v) Verona

w) Aarhus

x) Bergen

y) Gothenburg

z) Rovaniemi

aa) Palma de Mallorca

bb) Toledo, Segovia, Avila

cc) Cadiz, Sevilla, Granada

dd) Girona

ee) Andorra

ff) Luxembourg

gg) Lichtenstein

hh) Zermatt, Lauterbrunnen, Grindelwald

ii) Basel, Bern

jj) Paris (extended stay)?

* I can see this destination with my friend

Island Life

The architecture is often sandy, pock-marked stone, with boldly coloured balconies jutting out into narrow streets. Valletta is laid out in a grid, allowing air from the Mediterranean Sea to flow through. There is very little greenery, but the capital has a languid charm, the locals persisting in helping the traveller out. The capital is walkable, not much more than a kilometre in diameter at its longest stretch. There are Michelin rated restaurants, catering to a mostly European traveller. You won’t hear many American accents in this part of the continent.

I got to chatting with another solo diner from Ragusa in Sicily, who told me the island has heady notes of Italy. He had come to Malta via the waterways. We watched deliverymen drop off fresh vegetables and potatoes from Italy and Britain to Nenu The Artisan Baker’s, where I had had a traditional bread with anchovies, olives, potatoes and tomatoes sprinkled with herbs. Light on vegetables but a heavy on tradition, the decor of the place was organised around a partially arched ceiling, with accents of pink-red. 

I fell for the unique architecture, which dazzled me in the warm sunlight and kept me guessing with different patterns. Curves abound, and the balconies get asymmetrical often enough to keep me wanting to document the way they pop up.

An elderly clothing store owner taught me how to say Hello in Maltese (which I have but forgotten now), calling me sweetie every so often as he recounted his family’s immigration around the time of World War Two, mused that there are probably a lot of Maltese in Australia (especially in Perth), exclaimed that he couldn’t handle the day-long journey to my part of the world, and complained that visitors to his shop don’t say Hello and Goodbye today, just drifting in and out. Consistent with this sentiment, he made sure to greet me again as I passed by later that day, even though he was in conversation with a group of people. I returned the greeting. 

I have found that the Maltese respond to genuine friendliness in kind, though they seem kind of low in enthusiasm.

Lübeck

You turn to me co-conspirationally

A smile never far from your lips

We savour a familiar connection

Set amongst unfamiliar surroundings

You are the sweetest, most considerate of friends

I notice you taking the gentlest of care with me

We move through a soothing variety of spaces

Emboldened by the air of the Baltic sea

Distinctly neon pink

I am wearing a shirt from the Australian company Sportsgirl, and it is a shade of pink I haven’t made peace with. I feel somewhat self-loathing as I notice it on my body. I think the colours we wear have no inherent meaning, just that which we assign to them, based on our personal, social, economic and historical contexts. 

I enjoy most shades of pink. Some look better on me than others. Others have, for some time, reminded me of negative qualities I associate with women, such as people-pleasing, being apologetic and smiling a lot (all qualities I possess in some way). Maybe I should make peace with those qualities, because they are a part of me. Even bell hooks (or Bell Hooks) wore pink in the later stages of her life, presumably because she liked the feeling she got from it. That was something she changed her mind about, going from fear of reinforcing stereotypes to embracing her personal preferences. She remains a role model. 

Traditionally feminine traits also include loving and empathising. They include reflection and gentleness. Emotional depth and thoughtful communication. Sensitivity and kindness. 

I am no less a feminist for wearing neon pink. I am tired of trying to be superhuman and transcend the patriarchy. I can resist the patriarchy in many ways, but there are some battles I can’t pursue. I have the limitations of a person socialised as, and perceived as, a cis woman, meaning that I need to practice self-care, and that means rest, comfort and relaxation in their own right. The luxury to just “be” without the friction of questioning gender norms endlessly.

It’s chilly in Hannover today, so no-one has seen my bright pink shirt. But I see it, and the part of me that likes it will keep wearing it - and continue reaching out to the part of me that struggles with it.

Poem

It’s a quiet day, 

with rainfall thickening

the atmosphere.

I remember the delight

of watching you 

observe the world.

With steady curiosity,

radiant kindness…

you remind me of a pearl.

London and Berlin

My favourite moments in London were those in between the sights I had researched and planned for: 

a) wandering down lanes of high-contrast townhouses, noticing the decor people had chosen to make their homes stand out (a Buddha here, a line of large ants there), spying signs warning of prosecuting the humans that let their dogs ‘foul the pavement’ (such fancy language, yet so punitive).

b) having a brief chat with an elderly, white man who mused that the exhibition he had just attended at Victoria & Albert had been less well attended than the exhibitions of his past, although the quality was still high.

c) I discovered Kave, a café that advertised artisanal coffee in Shepherd’s Bush, full-length windows giving it an open, airy feel, while warm, gold lights facing the eclectic artworks on the walls ladled on cosiness and charisma. My Toffee Latte here was delicious. 

My stay in Berlin was unexpectedly social, what with an old friend meeting me for dinner. Susi, the nomad, was spending a year in the capital of her home country, and she was still discovering new sights among the museums, galleries, and other cultural hubs on offer. It was lovely to talk travel and international living with someone who had been all around the world, and was alive to the beauty of Europe. 

I have long admired the caps on rent in places like Berlin and Hamburg, but to my surprise, a recent government had lifted Berlin’s, and now rents are comparable to Sydney’s: highly expensive. 

Susi also taught me that pet-sitting was not the done thing in Botswana. The locals laughed at her (good-naturedly, I assume) when she described what she was doing there, because animals are seen as communal and wild there, only loosely kept by humans. 

According to Susi, Danish people are protective of their social groups to the extent that they’re not open to new arrivals. She anticipated getting involved in a nomadic or immigrants’ group if she and her husband spend some time in Copenhagen. She felt that hygge was the secret of the Danes’ happiness, and I’m open to this insight as I don’t have enough experience with the country to know which ingredients decisively sway the Danes that way.

I adorn my face with opinions

A couple of days ago a potential new friend invited me to a social event hosted by a cosmetics company, reminding me that, even for the kind of unconventional women and non-binary people I attract, makeup continues to matter. 

The first page of a Google search on "I don't wear makeup feminist" reveals cis woman after cis woman sorting through their conflicted feelings on beauty culture. Am I a rarity in having opted out of this conflict so decisively that it's hard to relate?

For me, it's pretty simple: I have various insecurities about my face, but none of them are compelling enough to lead to covering it up in time-consuming practices involving costly chemicals which won't let my skin breathe. 

I know that I am valuable for what I hold inside. I have a bright spark in me which attracts other people. I move through the world confident in my knowledge that my features don't need enhancement. I only have one face, and I respect it. 

I feel privileged to have such a long history of this. 

I adorn my face with opinions.

That face, with its wrinkles around the eyes (I am 41, after all), areas of asymmetry, rosacea, dryness, and (right now) angular cheilitis, tells a story of curiosity, globe trotting, reading, intellectual discussion, bravery, nonconformity and style. It speaks of altruism, community consciousness, uniqueness, persistence and strength. Kindness. Empathy. Compassion. 

I feel free to be my authentic self, and encourage more women and non-binary people to do the same. 

Ideas for Better Work Distribution

It seems unfair to me that some people have jobs that utilise their creativity and/or critical thinking, and others don't. But how to distribute work so that all working people get a go at these more desirable jobs? What if we made it so that everybody had to participate in a combination of occupations? One could be a lawyer on Mondays, barista on Tuesdays, business manager on Wednesdays, actor on Thursdays, and chemist on Fridays. The following week, the same person could be a potter on Mondays, toilet cleaner on Tuesdays, architect on Wednesdays, artist on Thursdays and construction worker on Fridays. Then we'd go back to being a lawyer on Monday. 

Imagine if society cared enough about the human spirit to assign every person variety - the chance to participate in both interiority-enriching labour and do the necessary tasks which are considered less desirable but are nevertheless necessary for society to function. Everybody could be paid the same for their 'package' of assorted tasks. Educational institutions would flourish with everybody training (and retraining) on the regular. Everybody could have their turn being an academic, too. 

Such a distribution would eliminate job-related snobbery and increase empathy, because we would all know what it's like, being a toilet cleaner. People would be conceived of as having limitless potential, and nobody would feel like they're on the dead-end track. Regular, inbuilt variety brings new ideas and more cross-disciplinary solutions to the problems of the world. 

To ensure some consistency and specialisation, a worker could select which jobs they return to periodically (as long as there is a mix of them in their basket).

What I propose is radical, but it can be done. We only need to find the collective will to elevate human dignity. 

Trusting your instincts

In 2025, it's a regular occurrence to be overloaded with information. You can access hours' worth of reading material every day through the internet alone. To be a wise, discerning and sophisticated agent in this environment, you need to be in touch with your emotions on a regular basis and let them take centre stage. 

What does it mean to trust your instincts? It's about listening to when you feel encouraged by something. Tuning into what motivates you (and what doesn't). Doing more of what makes you feel fulfilled, or deeply contented. It can often mean making choices which diverge from how the majority would handle things.

That thing that works for your best friend may not work for you. Your parents' heartfelt advice might not truly meet your needs. If the words of a spiritual advisor don't ring true, don't try to mould yourself in their image. Letting go of 'time-honoured wisdom' that you realise secretly bothers you might be the best thing you can do. Be kind and curious when getting in touch with your feelings. You deserve the luxury of hearing yourself out. The path to self-awareness may seem labyrinthine, but the more you learn to rely on your intuition, the easier it gets.

Perfectionist Tendencies

One of the reasons I haven't written here for a while is that my perfectionistic tendencies have shown up strongly. I want to meet a high standard. Another reason is that I have been mired in indecision about my next life stage: do I pursue yet more travel, or something more responsible, like investing in shares? 

Life feels messy as ever, and I try to be my own psychologist and tidy up the clutter of my mind through these blogposts, but doing so publicly means that there is always a defensive filter. 

I agree with those who maintain that trying to be a good writer while not being a good reader is going to produce disappointing results. I've been reading a little bit more lately, and this seems to provide fuel for my creative fire. 

I've also been trying to appreciate Sydney through the eyes of a local - meeting up with new people, making a habit of going to the beach and drinking in the ambiance, and I've decided to invest in soundproofing my bedroom (to make my home a more comfortable environment). 

Two evenings ago I was waiting for mum by the car at Coogee Oval (a large space where sports events are often held), when I decided to take a selfie. Just as I was getting into it, a car's backlights illuminated me in a warm red colour. I grinned, and took three photos. This one is my favourite:

Sydney provides plenty of what I need to live a good life. It's not perfect, but neither is anyplace else. There are things about it that are rare and precious, like its brand of multiculturalism. There are things which are enabling and encouraging, like its green spaces, user-friendly streets, clean water, fresh air, accessible education system and world-leading medical care. I have decided that I belong here. 

Chill Vibes at 'Ultra Violet'

I bumped into an old acquaintance at the Mardi Gras Festival's premier party for queer women (Ultra Violet), which opened up opportunities for socialising and group dancing. The afternoon had started out uneventfully - there was good music coming from the stages, but hardly anyone dancing along. I retreated to a pink beanbag nestled in the grass to wait for things to start happening. And indeed they did - an hour later (at 5pm) people started arriving a-proper, and the musicians were being met with the appreciation they deserved. 

The reason I knew Camz was that we attended a workshop on Healthy Relationships together. Run by ACON (a queer health organisation), our group pondered the ins and outs of functional human dynamics, learning from each other's experiences. Our little group developed an affinity for each other, and that translated into a facebook friendship with Camz, and a warm greeting at Ultra Violet. 

Camz had been busy since the early morning, setting up the National Art School so that it was ready to host hundreds of us queer women (and their allies). The grounds were decorated with sculpture installations (a glittery pink unicorn here, a walk-in vulva there), and the four stages were decked out in gorgeous graphics. I felt a sense of gratitude towards Camz for sacrificing her sleep in order to prepare the place. She had met some other nice volunteers that morning, and now that they were free to enjoy the event, they instinctively sought each other out throughout the evening. 

We started out at the 'Ultra' stage, drifted around the other three sources of music, and took photos with the sculptures. There wasn't much time for conversation, but I introduced myself to an engineer from Peru and a cis man from Dubai, the latter turning out to have some great dance moves. We decided that DJ Eddie was the best choice to dance to back at the Ultra stage, and shook our bodies to energised remixes of hits like 'What U Waiting For?' by Gwen Stefani. The others were drinking from the two bars available, but I was happy to stick to water. 

There was something about being around other queer people in a place designed especially for us that was soothing in a deep way. I observed the lesbian and bisexual women feel increasingly bold in their enjoyment of the music, and each other. 

There was a trans woman dressed up like Chappell Roan, a cis woman with a shaved head, various flavours of non-binary, and all the femmes you could possibly imagine. Older and younger generations mingled on the dancefloors, many with glitter in their hair or elsewhere on their attire. 

Camz herself was sporting a wonderful earpiece that she got online, the silver star patterns contrasting with her light brown skin. She said that her search for work in Australia was leading her to move to Newcastle, which is a shame because I will miss her. I guess we all gotta do what we gotta do. 

I departed from Ultra Violet at about 8pm, around the time a rock band with a S'n'M style was starting to amass an audience. I wasn't feeling the vibe so I extricated myself from the crowd, and loitered around the entrance, where the second half of Lady Gaga's 'Abracadabra' was audible. I had indulged in sufficient feel-good vibes during the 4.5 hours I'd spent there, and I felt it was a good note on which to leave. 

My 2025 Mardi Gras Festival (so far)

I chanced on a conversation with a queer man this evening 

Loquacious, well-travelled, kind and well-read

He saved me from a soundtrack of Leony’s

‘Rock and Roll’ ‘decorating’ my head

*

I’ve attended four events in the line-up for this Mardi Gras Festival: Randwick Pride, Fair Day, and two film screenings in Newtown. I’ve felt more welcome in my own city than I do most times of year. 

Fair Day in particular always surprises me with the diversity in the stalls, variety in the performances and sheer number of people. This year we were treated to a sampling of songs from the musical Titanique, which inspired me to experience the whole show sometime soon.

The Sydney Gay and Lesbian Choir performed at both Fair Day and Randwick Pride, saluting those of us with a bit of experience in love with an Australian 90s song about ‘[keeping on] falling in love / which is kind of the same.’ The song explores the rollercoaster of adult life, longs for parental guidance, yet ultimately celebrates persisting on the journey. (I forget the name of the song.)

Randwick Pride introduced me to Dyan Tai, a cis man vocalist in drag, who has a naturally high voice, brings themes of being other-ised as an Asian, and the lack of queer literacy in his family. The lyrics also feature more common gay themes, such as the magnetism of same-sex attraction, and the appeal of consumerism. The beauty of Dyan’s multi-faceted lavender dress was unmatched by any other outfit I’ve seen in this Festival. 

Having recently made an acquaintance on the promenade of Coogee Beach (where Randwick Pride was held) to whom I don’t feel comfortable being out, I can attest to Coogee & Randwick being places where heteronormativity still reigns. It is mostly a good-natured lack of cultural savvy. There may be a permanent rainbow walkway painted on the pavement, but it’s often that I feel like “the only gay in the village.” There is a strong appeal of Randwick Pride for me, because, for at least one day of the year, I feel like there are enough of us LGBTIQs around to make our presence felt.

The film ‘Lesvia’, a documentary put together by a Lesbos-born lesbian, indulged in the hedonism and social patterns of the mostly transient communities formed in Eressos (a part of the island encompassing a beach). It was interesting, though disconcerting, to witness the locals’ sense of separateness from any kind of queerness. One woman even hesitated to acknowledge Sappho’s lesbian heritage, when prompted. But this didn’t stop European travellers and some other international visitors (such as those from Israel) pursuing the Eressos experience, seeking a liberating space and finding solace, company and/or sex. With a handful of businesses springing up, accommodating for tendencies like vegetarianism, and eventually a women-only hotel (which has since closed), tourists felt they could live large and even sometimes behaved in culturally disrespectful ways which annoyed the locals. (It’s a familiar story of tourists not doing their research on the locals and overstepping boundaries.) Eressos, Lesbos continues to draw queer women today, though in the internet age it doesn’t have the same oasis-like feel as it did in the 60s-80s. Still, I will consider visiting next time I’m in Greece - it holds a historic appeal and promises a modern edge. 

Last but not least, I took in a suite of short films in a new venue (the upstairs room of a hotel and bar), the best of which was called ‘The Space You Need’ - this British sci-fi took a light-hearted, witty approach to the eventual falling apart of a relationship. There were laugh-out-loud moments as well as telling pauses which prompted us to recalibrate. An enjoyable story made all the more relatable by a racially diverse cast. 

Some of the other short films represented a groan-worthy gender reveal party which goes haywire in humorous style, and then there was the trans woman with supernatural gifts tasked with inducing confessions of love between two women who have been keeping their emotions under wraps for the longest time. Not all the films were stellar, but together they hit feel-good notes and made the trip to the inner west worth it.

I look forward to a couple more events before this Mardi Gras is done. It has provided me with reassurance and joy.

Is everyone bipotential?

It could very well be that any one human being has the potential for bisexuality. This is a hypothesis that makes intuitive sense to me, but Compulsory Heterosexuality remains a strong influence on society. 

In the past, when I have raised this question, I have received everything from the refusal to consider the concept seriously, to recognition that it’s an illuminating idea. 

Through dealing with the disbelievers I’ve come to realise that, in a way, I don’t need everyone to be bipotential in order to feel that my bisexuality is a natural or good thing. It does help, though.

Bipotentiality helps enrich what ‘natural’ means to those of us who identify as LGBTIQA+. Popularly in circulation is the ‘Born this way’ narrative, which argues that minority sexualities are innate and can’t be interfered with in any meaningful way, yet this has always sounded apologetic to me - catering to mainstream heteronormativity. 

What I want to see is LGBTIQA+ people expand in number until unproblematic heterosexuality loses its appeal as a concept. Compulsory Heterosexuality is not a celebration of human sexuality, but immobilising. Bipotentiality is a gentle assertion of sexuality’s richness and endless variation. It brings abundant possibilities. 

It would be nice to have bisexuality normalised to such an extent that it is the default concept associated with ‘normal sexuality.’ At such a time I can find comfort in being popularly well-received, as part of an inclusive majority which finds little ‘too weird’. In the meantime I must remind myself that bisexuals find their way into the media on a regular basis, and the younger generations are more comfortable with it than Millenials. 

I do think this may be the future sooner rather than later, but we need to fight to make it a reality.

A walk on Coogee Beach is...

- Visual Splendour: The sea has a mesmerising quality to it, generating both regular and irregular rhythms. New patterns dance around the froth, different types of waves entertain surfers and the casual observer is kept guessing. How intensely will the waves break on the shore? How many surfers will navigate the water today? How many swimmers will keep within the flags? Will there be any announcements over the loudspeaker? Will the sea invade huge swathes of the pool, or tidily lap at the edges?

- Everything Around It: Trees that remind me of pines line the promenade, offering shade on sunny days. There's a garden running alongside the smooth, carrot-toned stones, competing for the passerby's attention on the other side. Rows of grass spliced between sandy-coloured stone curves remind me vaguely of rice paddies, though the grey statues of war heroes bring me back to white supremacist patriarchy. The birds circle the man-made landscape here, while further uphill it's possible to inhabit blue-and-cream wooden huts. 

- Attention to detail: At the southern entrance to Coogee's it's possible to enhance the caffeine content in your body. At the northern entrance, too, but I prefer the pale green structure of Barzura, with its striped umbrellas decorating the pavement. Inside, the acoustics can make it uncomfortably noisy, but the outdoors tables are shady and offer splendid views: it's where everyone wants to be. 

- People (and pet) Watching: There's a guy with an image of Jesus on his back, and the word 'Coexist' above it, representing a collection of major world religions in the font. There's women with skin-tight designer sportswear, fluorescent or monochrome, sometimes in pastel. They run or walk, sometimes accompanied and at other times enjoying their solitude with headphones. There's elderly, European-born couples enjoying the sunshine, British and Irish backpackers hanging out in pairs or groups, brown-skinned youth decked out in Tommy Hilfiger, (East) Asian men wearing Superdry tshirts, queer women with neon hair and multiple piercings, alternative types in black or dark clothing, femmes with sunglasses and flowy, floral dresses, Indian couples eating ice cream and much more. 

The pets are as varied as their owners, from golden labradors to greyhounds, small dogs which enthuse at each other, and bigger ones that can peer over the promenade's wall if they stand up on their hind legs. I recognise that some people are return visitors simply because their dogs are distinctive. 

- Variable: Each visit to Coogee Beach is unique, and there is a lot more I could add, but I have to end this post at some stage. 

At Coogee Beach

Watching people shimmy in and out of view

Arms lightly grazed by seasalt-licked sand

They’ve gathered to find delight in something

The water’s edge lubricates socially as well

Is there music which captures the feeling?

Pop-up guitarists have been known to linger

Their offerings fade in and out of earshot

I rarely pause in my forward momentum

Whether through gentle breeze, or gusts of wind,

Still or variable, the air is tactile, now within

Leaping off of aquamarine waters

Celebrating all the walkers

No matter the weather, it welcomes me in

I sea your mountains

I'm reading a book on creativity at the moment, and I was reminded of a moment a couple of days ago, when I paid close attention to the surface of the sea and it suddenly reminded me of the mountainous landscape I saw flying over India, endless craggy peaks tickling the sky. The restless water may have been aquamarine and the elevated landmass dark brown, but in that moment I wondered what it might be like to juxtapose their shapes in a drawing, painting or collage.

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It's Australia Day today, and it feels like we're no closer to the slogan 'Change The Date' becoming a mass movement. I promote it anyway, because you never know - sometimes things can change fast. 

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Ever since I caught Covid I've had a sense of myself as having less mental capacity than before. My best friend reassures me that I am still 'plenty sharp', which is somewhat comforting. It could be I am traumatised by the experience and need to talk to my therapist about it. Yet, there is also a sense that I don't need to try so hard to be intellectual: that is something I simply am. 

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An Afternoon at the Korean Cultural Centre

I like to drop by the shiny, spacious Korean Cultural Centre when I'm in the area and have a bit of time. An exhibition of artists with multicultural backgrounds greeted me today, presenting everything from a vivid portrait of Leonora Carrington (an artist who has an experimental approach to representing women) to landscapes full of vibrancy and movement, to urban streets with poetic renderings, to abstract art.

If I had noticed the library in the centre before, it had escaped my memory, but here was an aesthetically decorated room of neutral tones and comfortable chairs, housing books of Korean interest. Some of them were in Hangul and there some were, invitingly, in English, for those of us who are not native or foreign speakers. I found a tome of essays on Modern Art and chose a chair. 

Apparently during the period of modernism, South Korean culture underwent considerable changes, allowing women to enter educational institutions. This led feminists and progressives to question the role of adult women, now that there were more options for them than a lifetime of domesticity and childcare. One fashion designer, educated in Los Angeles and Paris, changed her name to Nora Noh, inspired by the protagonist of A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen. Her circumstances were such that she didn't want to be tied to the husband her family, peers and society guided her to at a young age. She wanted to explore her interiority and gain independence, not be treated like an 'item' by her in-laws, something only to 'give or take'. Nora Noh went on to introduce the miniskirt to South Korea by way of dressing a famous musician who imported it from the West. The designer maintained that clothes should 'not overpower the woman, but make her feel comfortable and allow her personality to shine'. Her 50+ years in the fashion industry speak to how successfully she actualised her personality and nurtured her talent. 

I was interested to learn that the feminist-friendly 'New Woman' category of the modernist era had influences from Japanese colonialism, Confucianism, and the West. Those who wanted to restructure society to allow women more freedom and opportunity saw this as growing the competitiveness of South Korea. They felt hope that Koreans could do women's empowerment in their own way, simultaneously learning from Japanese culture and seeking to rebel against it. 

This made for an interesting afternoon, musing on how the culture wars continue in the nation with the current impeachment of the anti-feminist president possibly bringing some fresh influences to Seoul. I am curious to see what will happen next on the Korean peninsula.