Un ‘guarito

27/9/2015

I like to think Australia's and my respective histories share a common foundational ingredient: aguardiente, loCombia's favourite drink.

Into the Outback

Australia famously started modern life as a prison. Less famous is the fire water that fuelled its first parties:

It was the first bush party in Australia, with some "swearing, others quarrelling, others singing—not in the least regarding the tempest, tho' so violent that the thunder shook the ship exceeding anything I ever before had a conception of" … and as the couples rutted between the rocks, guts burning from the harsh aguardiente, their clothes slimy with red clay, the … history of colonial Australia may fairly be said to have begun.
[From The Fatal Shore. The aguardiente at this party was picked up in Rio de Janeiro by the First Fleet]

A country founded on aguardiente, how wild! JD and I couldn't believe it, but even us connoisseurs were not ready for the fiery divebombs that would (literally) come down on us daily during our visit to this land of swooping magpies, parching sun, sideways hail, rugby-tackling nieces/nephews (on the 'soccer' pitch), and mercenary airline staff (Singapore Airlines wanted $3,630 for a bag of excess luggage! Fortunately there was a much more reasonable post office next door). But the rewards on our Melbourne-Sydney road trip were also epic: rugged mountains, lush wildlife, vast azure skies, sweeping scrubby plains, brooding spring waves, luscious banana bread, and of course the warmest family hugs.

Both beautiful and terrifying at the same time, so much so that each quality is interdependent on the other. Perhaps the best way to describe it is as beauterriful. Now JD and I head home to the UK. Glancing up at the flight status screen, I see we're entering the Outback. We didn't spend any time there on this OZ visit, but I do feel I'm writing this while metaphorically riding (sorry, I don't walk!) into this most beauterriful of places.

NEETly happy

I started modern life by getting a little drunk as a beauterriful toddler of age two or three. The details are sketchy in my mind, but I probably took a little sip from the drinks (probably aguardiente) of each of my parents' guests at a party. Three decades later and I find myself NEET (not in education, employment or training) for the first time since then. My future plans remain fuzzy, but they will surely include a recipe containing a bike, copious writing, Wales, a pinch of entrepreneurship, a mix of ideas from my Masters' education research, even more time with friends and family, and Hawaii.

My medical situation is similar. I feel stronger (and happier!) than ever. No, not the strongest (and happiest!) this year. Really: ever. Treatment continues as planned, with just a couple more rounds of chemotherapy in the calendar. The monthly hangovers suck, but they're nothing compared to an aguardiente one. Of course, the tumour could start to regrow, any time any place. It's a good thing, then, that I can tap into other promising but unproven beauterriful treatments if and when they’re needed.

It really is beauterriful peering into the Outback of my life, with no path to follow. In Colombia we religiously pour out a few aguardiente drops in homage to the dead when opening a new bottle. Thanks be to God and my nutritionist: the drink is on my strictly prohibited list!