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I'd write more, like you said I should. If only, there was more to me.

Friday, August 03, 2007


Each time I pack my bags, head to an unknown bed, I tend to lower my expectations.

You can never get your own bed, your type of cushions or whatever else defines 'mine' when you are away. Logic determines you shouldn't even expect it.

Given the packed skeds all round, the room was the last thing on our minds. We knew it was called 'Solace', it was on Lawson Street in Byron Bay. Would it live upto its name, we wondered as we drove from the festival site to what we imagined would be our humble abode. And garbage bins didn't give it away.

So we trudged up the steps, heavy bags in tow. We stuck the key in the door, we imagined it would be alright. We turned the keys, then we lost our step and our breath along the way.

It was more than beautiful. 'Solace' it truly was. Done just right, with the pictures framing pristine walls, this was a place to call home.

It was right smack in town, offering a walk to our favourite restaurant 'Fishheads', to the beach, to the shopping stretch, to the sandwich bars. Wish we had time to make a little more of it.

Moments like these will be far and few between. Janet and I are destined to meet at Ubud next, where she'll be leading her fine literary festival. You'll never see her pause, come September.

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