Sydney ferry meets Opera House.
Potts Point: Llankelly Place.
After a holiday, it’s easy to say I wish I had more time–More time with family, relaxing, sightseeing, shopping, enjoying peace and quiet, hanging out in nature (check all that apply). While it just wasn’t long enough, and I definitely wish we had a bit more time, this trip to Australia did have a good balance.
We spent time with Robert’s family and friends, in the country, the capital territory, Sydney, and the Great Barrier Reef. We ate amazing food and drank good wine. We hiked, we swam, had BBQs, chatted, laughed and hung out. It was really nice.
But of course, it wouldn’t be a holiday for me without having some sort of stupid thing happen. This time, it was the jelly fish encounter. We were snorkeling on our final day on the reef when we got caught in a gigantic school of jelly fish in shades of pinks, purples , blues and greens and in all sorts of pretty, mushroomy shapes. Lovely to look at yes, but the beasts kept stinging me. It felt like someone was poking me with a needle over and over again. So while annoying after a while, it was really no big deal. Until later, that is.
That night, I started noticing all these tiny bites on my arms and legs that gradually grew larger and more “welty” by the next day. It looked like I had the chicken pox. The bites itched like hell. And since I had so many bites–around 100–I also felt kind of ill. Adding insult to injury, the misery came on with a fury during our long flight home to Stockholm.
I was not happy. But at least I wasn’t bitten by the deadly box jellyfish. And after a few days, I was feeling better. Now there are just two rather ugly marks left on my arm. I guess I could call them a trip souvenir?
After four days, most of the jelly fish bites were looking better. (That’s a side view of my ankle!)
Countryside: Tubbul, New South Wales.
Eucalyptus trees in country New South Wales.
Country road block.
Uncle Peter’s freshly plowed field. Tubbul, New South Wales.