The new campsite in Margaret River suits me fine and I finally spoke to Dennis again this afternoon. After a week of being deprived from a working phone signal and internet connection, we finally managed to get a date on Skype. Now, Skype is a great program, don´t get me wrong, but it´s nowhere near the actual sensation of being close to a loved one. There´s no familiar smell, no sense of touch, and often not even a clear sound or video image. So, after Dennis and I say our goodbyes again, I turn my gaze outward and stare down the streets of Margaret River. I fly home in seven days andsSuddenly, a week seems infinitely long. The seven days ahead appear an endless term. I sag around town, dragging my feet behind me. When I ... read more

God has sent another angel on my path and her name is Jenny. As soon as I see her, I notice her dark complexion, her fragile posture, her long, curled black and white hair, her soft eyes, and the teeth missing from her smile. Jenny welcomes me into her home. She offers me a bedroom with TV, the use of her laundry machine and unlimited access to her veggie-stuffed fridge. She´s so generous, I can hardly bear. Jenny is Rennie´s mother in law and while her husband is away working in the mines, she is fond of enjoying some overseas company. There is a catch though, I have to teach her all I know about photography. A task I´m more than happy to take on. After Rennie and I had a beer and chat near the ... read more

During my last night in Port Lincoln, a fierce wind blows the waves up high and my tent to its bending limits. It´s 00.30 and my tent is cracking. I can hear the fly tear. I have two choices: I either stay here until my tent gets blown to bits (and it will!), or I pack up now and head for safety. I do the latter. In complete darkness and hard blowing winds, I put all heavy items outside the tent, take out the pegs and drag everything to the campsites laundry room. I haven’t even settled in yet, and rain pours down from the sky in endless quantities. I spend the rest of the night in between four washing machines. I hear the waves crash on the beach, the rain beating on the sand and ... read more

In my last blog I mentioned the dream I had during my last night in Tasmania. My whole family suffered from cancer. Even dad, who, in my vision, was still with us. When we found out that even my stepsister was dying, my father accused me of not accepting my step-family. In the end, we all committed suicide to save ourselves from suffering. Now, this dream has kept my mind occupied. What bothers me most, is my father´s accusation towards me. According to him, I revolted against my step-family and was not accepting towards them. In real life, before he died, my father accused me every now and again of doing the same thing. However, his blame couldn´t be further from the truth, and in my dream, as well as in real life, I just didn´t ... read more

´Hi there!´ Denis opens the door of his dodgy, blue Daihatsu. A tiny grey and black Schnauzer greets me with licks and tail wagging. I get in. ´I need to stop by my house first because I forgot my shoes´, Denis says and he drives on. Denis, a sturdy, bearded man in his sixties, is Robertsons local photographer and fashion icon. His stained, red sweatpants hang loosely around his skippyball-sized waist and reveal a pair of worn-out and downy Gucci underwear. The outfit is topped by a blueish/greyish t-shirt stretched to its maximum extent. Anyhow, Denis is probably one of the sweetest people I´ll ever meet and a walking encyclopedia as well. He knows every tiny plant, every bird call and every minuscule leave we come across. Denis’ main specialty are orchids. ‘They give off this ... read more