That one night in Monument Valley

I pulled the bandana up over my face as a cloud of dirt swept through the back of the truck I was riding in as it was making its way between the towering rock formations.

It had only been 20 minutes and I had dirt on my face, and in my clothes and hair already.

But I didn’t care.

It was sacred dirt.

And I felt honoured to be covered in it.

One of the first places John, our Navajo guide brought us to was a cave where he encouraged us to lay down to see if we can see an eagle’s head formed into the rock in the top of the cave. Some of us took longer than others to see it, but it was definitely there staring back at us, almost waiting for us to notice it.

That was super cool, but what really got my attention was the feeling of the earth underneath me as a lay in that cave. It was like I could feel its magic start to permeate into my cells and I knew in those cells that I now was on land that was very very special and I felt very very alive. Alive in the sense that my senses felt heightened, my mind calm and still and my heart pulsing with waves of love – so when the drum started pounding and John’s voice was echoing through the cave singing in his native tongue, the emotion it was carrying coursed through me and my eyes welled up unexpectedly. It was as if I knew the song from a long long time ago, and that it held significance for me and to hear it now was overwhelming. I knew as well that the song had awakened a dormant, ancient part of me that wasn’t going to go back to sleep anytime soon.

It didn’t want to sleep, it had slept a thousand years and it was done with that.

It wanted to dance.

I wanted to dance.

Just as well I got to dance around a fire in sacred Navajo land then that night huh?

Our beds for the night was the earth.

The warm, orange, dusty, magic earth.

But before that, John gathered us into a Hogan and spoke to us of the energy of the land and of its other-worldly inhabitants, like shape shifters and skin walkers. FYI – this was approximately 20 mins prior to him leaving us alone there for the night. Now, from what I understand, a skin walker is a being/creature that took possession of an animal’s body and used to that move around in. If it made eye contact with you you wouldn’t be able to move, and they generally were after the kind of energy that people who had a spiritual practice possessed – soooooo yeah I was kinda doomed if a skin walker decided to pay us a visit.

All good guys, I got this.

I did some research later on and the word for skin walkers in the Navajo language is yee naaldlooshii which translates to “by means of it, it goes on all fours.”

Now tell me that doesn’t give you Heebie-jeebies?

As we started to set up our ‘beds’ for the night with John’s words echoing in our ears, and the knowledge he won’t be back until 06:15, I become acutely aware of how isolated we were here. As his truck disappeared amongst the towering rocks and taking with it the last glimmer of light, our eyes started to see into the dark and shadows and more detail could be seen. I don’t think I had ever been somewhere where there was no light pollution, let alone any artificial lights at all and my body wasn’t used to it. My senses felt so much sharper yet confused, and the darkness was almost deafening.

– – –

Three of us spent what felt like hours talking about the earth, the cosmos and life. We shared stories and revealed parts of our souls, and in that time and place we all just understood eachother. Relative strangers and new friends bonding on a profound level, compounded by this magical land we were gifted by.

It was impossible to feel alone out here.

– – –

Later when I laid down face up to the night sky, it felt like a great big blanket keeping me warm and safe. It was also one of the most beautiful sights that I had ever been witness too. With the absence of all other light sources, I could see subtle colours and tones with such clarity and depth. I could also see so many shooting stars/meteoroids burning up as they entered the earth’s atmosphere, and just every fricken star/glowing ball of gas up there.

EVERY last one.

In fact, there were too many for my eyes and brain to comprehend and I thought surely I’m not going to sleep tonight. I’m just going to stare and admire for the whole night because I was absolutely enamoured and there was nowhere else I could dream of being in that moment – let alone asleep.

I wanted to savour this experience, to stretch it out as long as possible and soak up every last bit of this place. And I was quite prepared to sacrifice sleep for all of that.

Sleep was inconsequential.


The next thing I know I was awake and the sky was this glorious shade of pink and I found myself soaking up its beauty until panic set in.

The  stars were gone.

I looked around for them hurriedly but I couldn’t find even one. The sun had come up too far for their visibility so they had retreated back into obscurity and I struggled to accept this reality. It felt like such a loss, and something I knew I would likely never see again.

My heart broke at their absence.

The time is now approximately 06:59 we’re all perched on rocks or standing watching the sun rise up over the valley as if we’re hypnotised. John has brought us here after all of us having survived the night without a shapeshifter or skin walker incident.

Everything looks so red; the rocks, the dirt, the light and the sky and if you were to blink you would miss these microscopic changes in light that were happening every second. The reds were getting less sharp, the blue starting to emerge and the detail starting to come to life in the flora and previously very red rocks. I started to contemplate life, the sunrise as a metaphor for pondering what areas of my life I could breath new life into, to resurrect.

Coincidently, my writing and my stories came to mind. And I knew that the experience I was currently having would soon be written and become a story so I can share with others and hopefully inspire them to live more fully and to experience such profound moments.

Inception much?

The return back to ‘civilisation’ felt like just that. An assault on the senses, a feeling of being disorientated and an inability to completely understand the journey we had just been on.

A journey that would probably take a while for us to fully comprehend.

To really understand.

To allow the magic to do its work in our lives.

But knowing I would never forget and I would carry a piece of Monument Valley in my heart forever was a small comfort to me over having to leave there.

And there wasn’t enough gratitude in the world for that.

Not nearly enough.




Oh America

You’ve blown my mind.

I came here to explore your epic landscapes and I have seen so many unfathomable things. I have seen nature that has brought tears to my eyes out of sheer beauty and I have felt parts of me awaken that I didn’t know existed.

There are some experiences that will stay with me forever – no words ever being able to explain what the heart experienced and now knows.

And the connections made with other humans that I am so honoured to have found – to everyone that has been a part of this adventure, I thank you with a heart full of gratitude.




Tamara x

Running with Wolves

Wolves have fascinated me and I have been captivated by their wildness and beauty for as long as I can remember.

When the opportunity to meet some arose, I jumped at it.

We were staying in Svolvær, in the Lofoten Islands in Northern Norway and had a 4 hour drive to Polar Park, which is near Bardu, about and hour north of Narvik. The drive was beautiful, as is anywhere in Norway and as we got closer to the park the snowier and icier it got. There was no snow on the roads but we drove through snow covered mountains, snow next to the roads and frozen lakes. For these two Australian women, this Norwegian summer was a bit laughable.


Arriving at and exploring the park felt like we were in an arctic Jurassic Park. It was in the middle of no where amongst snow capped mountains with acres and acres of land. The enclosures were large and had these high fences, just like in Jurassic Park.

We were given instructions on how to explore the park before our arranged Wolf Visit. The wolf enclosures where pointed at and the one we would be going into was highlighted. You see, wolves remember you and we needed to make a good impression or they may simply ignore us when we met then, because they call the shots. So, no loud noises, no laughing loudly (this might prove difficult for us) and just generally no mucking around. We didn’t see the wolves that we were going to meet later but we saw some others and we had to stifle our squeals of joy – because, holy shit there were magnificent.


When it was time, we met the handlers we’d be going in with and listened to the strict instructions on how to act around the wolves and what to do and when. These were ‘socialised’ wolves, but first and foremost: they were wolves.

The five of them greeted us at the gate and we noticed the handlers weren’t exaggerating, they looked totally happy to see us. We were led to the meeting spot in single file and this is where we all kneeled down and would get to finally meet them if they allowed that. I was the furthest away from them and they approached me last, coming up to Malina and the other person in the tour and greeting their handlers first. One of the first things that struck me about them when I saw them interact, was how much they loved their handlers as much as you see any domesticated dog loving its human parents. They looked just as excited to see them, cuddled, licked and muzzled just the same, and obviously shared the same love.


I dont think I’ll ever be able to articulate just how it felt when one of the wolves (I think it was Freya) came to me for the first time.

It was powerfully overwhelming.

I felt an instant love.

You know that feeling you get when something is so beautiful that its overwhelming. You feel love in every atom of your being and every part of you is in complete gratitude that you, this mere human, gets to bear witness to something this magnificent.

This is how it felt.

And I’ll be totally honest too, part of me was scared as well. I mean, holy fffffing shit that’s a wolf. A goddamn wolf. And there was another four of them.

With a quivering hand, I reached out and placed it lightly on her back and nervously started stroking her fur. Fur that suprisingly felt rough kinda like brush brissles. She stopped, craned her head towards the sky a little and half closed her eyes like she ws enjoying it. Then she left, and a few others came over – more pats and licks while Malina and I exchanged these “holy shit is this really happening” looks. Then one of the wolves started muzzling me a little more than usual. Started rubbing its glorious head on my lap and then rolling it’s head, shoulders and upper back over my lap. Then two more wolves joined in and started muzzling me and rubbing up against me til I was literally in the middle of a wolf group hug. It was amazing and a little terrifying all at the same time. One of the handlers informed me that they must like what I smell like and that’s why they are getting so fresh with me. Ahh trusty essential oils, now wolf approved.

But then they started getting a little too fresh, nibbling on my clothes and almost knocking me over with their rough muzzling so much so that the male handler who was quite tall and broad came over and gently started plying them off me and putting himself between me and them to disrupt the shenanigans. Probably for the best hey?

We were then led to another spot, further into the enclosure up on a hill with 360 views of the snow covered mountains around us. We got more muzzling, cuddling and patting time up there before the wolves seemed to get a bit tired and all started to ly down for a bit of a rest – four of them making an almost perfect row between Malina and the other participant. Then the handlers announced that they were going to encourage the wolves to howl for us – Malina and I gave eachother one those holy shit looks again.


One by one the wolves started howling.

Singing such beautiful songs.

“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!”

It felt so primal, so wild.

I felt things I dont have the words for and the tears flowed a little. It was so completely humbling watching the shape of their bodies with their heads pointed upwards, contrasted against the snowy hills and hearing them literally howling at the heavens. I had to laugh though. Freya, had decided that she was too tired to get up was lying down still with only her head held up while she howled too. It was like she though “hmm I could get up, orrrr I could just stay lying down and also howl = win/win”. Sometimes we can all relate to Freya.


Leaving the enclosure, the wolves all followed us up to the gate to say goodbye and I can only equate the feeling of walking away from them to watching someone you love get on a plane and fly miles and miles away from you. Those furry, glorious creatures had gotten into my heart and werent going to leave. I still feel their energy with me now, and its kinda funny to say (or write) outloud that I felt like I joined a club that day. Or a more apropriately, a pack. And sometimes when I’m not feeling very brave all I have to do I remember that their impression is still with me. That meeting them helped me tear off another layer from myself and I cant revert to who I was pre-wolf. I am braver and stronger now.

Godamn I miss them though.


As we walked away from the enclosure, Malina said to me “that was actually a bit emotional, hey?”

I just nodded.

Honouring Agnes – the pilgrimage of Burial Rites

I know I’m not alone in the fact that the book Burial Rites and Agnes’s story captivated and moved me. I know this because at least two people recommended the book to me because they were so moved.

And when I planned my return travels to Iceland, I made sure a pilgrimage was factored in.

June 22nd 2017, we drove from Akureyi that day after staying two nights in the area, and following vague directions on how to locate some of the places I wanted to honour: The workshop where the murders that Agnes’s was accused of being involved with took place, Agnes’s execution place and her final burial place. The directions I followed led us to a church, which I initially thought was the church at Tjorn in which the grounds Agnes is buried. As I frantically searched the grounds, my friend wandered off to get an unofficial tour of the church after being invited by a local man who had keys to the church. As I was starting to realise that we were at the wrong church, my friend was talking to the man about Agnes after he started telling her about the story upon finding out she was Australian. Turns out he knew exactly where we needed to go and gave us some pretty clear directions to follow.

I can’t help thinking Agnes wanted us to find her.

Our first stop was Þrístapar, her execution spot which was no more than 800 meters away once we got back onto the main road. An un assuming sign sits parallel to the road and you’d easily miss it driving past. The site is on/near farming ground but a fenced off path leads to these 3 mounds I had heard described so often before. I walk towards them, and a chill starts to run through my body as I realise exactly where I am.


I am here.

 That place.

 The place that haunted me from the pages.

The place that made me want to leap into the book and save her.

But I couldn’t, and she died alone and scared.

But I’m here I am, albeit almost 200 years later.

“I’m here Agnes” I said under my breath.


All the details from the book came flooding back to me as I ascended to the top of the hills. I wanted to cry but instead I just felt weird. A small plaque, tarnished by the elements and time stood on top of one of the hills. Most of words I didn’t recognise as my Icelandic is still quite basic, but I knew what it said. It explained rather unceremoniously that the last execution took place here on 12th January 1830. It didn’t even mention her name. I felt angry at that for her. I looked around, searching for some flowers, anything, that I could place here to show my respect. All I could see were dandelions, each one covered in half a dozen ants or so.

I observed the surroundings and the location. It was nothing special: bit of farmland with some similar hills to the ones I was standing on. But what I noticed was the mountains. They surrounded the place and I smiled because I thought, it anything, she may have found comfort in their beauty. They looked different now, of course and I hoped that it wasn’t so bleak and covered in too much snow to shield the beauty. I hoped that the beauty in mother nature held her until the final moment.

I contemplated why I felt so much affinity for this women who died almost 200 years ago. Was it the feelings of being a woman and misunderstood or overlooked or unappreciated? Probably. Was it that she died at 34, the same age I was that day? That’s a pretty polarising thought.


Next stop was the churn at Tjörn, where Agnes and Fridrik are now buried.

Apparently after they were executed (by beheading), their heads were put on stakes and displayed, as a deterrent to others and to be made an example of. Their bodies were disposed of (likely burnt) and their heads buried nearby the execution spot. Then, in 1932, a psychic claimed that she was contacted by Agnes and that Agnes implored her to find her and Fridrik’s buried heads and re bury them at the church grounds at Tjörn. Sounds a bit whacky, but the psychic apparently led them to the exact spot and they were able to uncover what they believed to be their heads, and relocate them to the churchyard in Tjörn. This is now their final resting place.

We drove on gravel and dirt roads for what felt like ages, using on a paper map with markings on it. The was rain coming in and out, making the drive even harder, but no less spectacular. The Vatsnes Peninsula was a lot more vast and isolated than what we expected. There was some farmland and farmhouses scattered around, and we mused about how isolated it must have felt in the 17th century with no cars and no modern technology. I started to understand the wretched conditions described so explicitly in the book, especially in winter.

I recognised the church as we approached it, and this time there was a sign with Tjörn on it. I had also seen a picture of the grave and that it was shared with Fridrik so I knew what I was looking for. My first thought was that it was such an unassuming place: a tiny church and a tiny grave yard on the edge of a remote peninsula in the middle of farmland. I forgot that, although the book was vastly popular and Agnes’s story know well known, this is where she lived and died and it was what it was.


I found the grave easily enough. And yes there they were, buried together in what had been described in another blog as seeming like there were sharing a grave like a marriage bed. Which seems strange as they we far from lovers (apparently). The grave is fairly modern, the plaque shiny and easy to read and Fridrik’s name is first at the top. Its one of those graves that is like a box with no lid, with walls around the outside. I found some dandelions (these ones relatively ant free) and placed them there to show my respect. I sat on the edge of the grave and I spoke to her again: I told her that I was sorry. Sorry that she lived her short life misunderstood and underestimated. I was sorry that because she was intelligent that it may have sealed her fate because people judged her, that because she was strong and powerful that people thought she had to be oppressed. I told her sorry that she may have felt so alone in life and in her circumstances and that I will hang on to who she was for as long as I lived. I told her that I would continue advocating for women to be seen for who they really are and to no longer be oppressed, and that I would continue to fight for myself.

I hope she heard me somehow.


Last stop was the farm at Illugastaðir. The place where the murders took place. This was a little less tangible as the farm no longer stood and all was left were ruins. There is a information board near the car park explaining that this is the location where the murders took place, but no real direction or explanation of exactly where. Its not a huge place, its full of seaweed and ducks and now the people visiting are just here because its now a good vantage place to spot seals.

I fell in love with Iceland, and believe every part of it is beautiful. But I could imagine how living there, especially in winter, would be a wretched thing. And I felt sad for Agnes. That she ended up here, and what happened happened.

I walked away a little crestfallen and that I had failed because I couldn’t find the exact site or the ruins. But it was the right place and I reasoned with myself that there was nothing left to see anyway. That I had found the execution spot, the grave and that I had made it here in the same location where it all went down. These were the three places I wanted to see and I did it.

With special mention to my patient, and expert map reader travel companion, Bree, I complete my pilgrimage.

It felt very surreal that I was there in all those places that I had read about and that were so far away from home.

I felt honoured that I was able to go there, and have this special experience.

I hoped Agnes knew somehow that she was honoured.

Whoever she was.


Oh Tassie (to the tune of Fleetwood Mac’s Oh Daddy)

This was my first time in Tasmania, and to be honest I had underestimated, or more accurately been ignorant of its beauty.

It only took my best mate and her family moving down there to prompt me to make the trip.

The first of many.

Day One

Touching down at Launceston airport with mountains in view was enough to excite my weary body and mind having  caught a red eye flight from Melbourne.

In fact, there are lots of mountains in Tassie, much to my delight and the car trip to Cradle Mountain was filled with lots of “oh my gods” and “wow’s” and “what the hells” much to the amusement of my friend. The trees too are beautiful, and tall, And fortunately, there are many of them.

Driving into Cradle Mountain National Park was like driving on another planet. It was so ruggedly beautiful that it reminded me of the Icelandic and Scottish landscapes I had explored and the pictures of New Zealand I had studied – yet something completely unique and definitely like nothing on the ‘mainland’. There was moss ground covering, small shrubs, few trees and small wallabies grazing. It was foggy and spectacular but unfortunately, arriving at Dove Lake yielded no clear view of Cradle Mountain.  It was raining lightly, so we chucked on our jackets and headed off for our 7km return hike around Dove lake.

I have to say – Tasmania has some bloody good and well maintained hiking tracks that put most of the Victorian ones I have hiked on to shame. There was some tricky spots, navigating rocks and uneven surfaces, but the track was mostly boardwalk which made the hike a lot smoother. We were convinced we were passing through multiple countries in the duration of the trail; parts felt like Australia, whilst others felt like Slovenia, Wales, New Zealand and even Thailand. There was deep forest sections, small lakeside shores, all surrounded by mountain ranges with lush vegetation.

The hike itself was fairly easy and mostly flat, and we completed it in a couple of hours – stopping to check out the view and take the obligatory photos from glacier rock near the end of the trail.

Slightly damp and cold, we warmed ourselves up at Cradle Lodge over some tea and hot chips before making our way to our cabin for an early night in preparation for an early morning the following day.

Day two

Awaking to the sound of steady rain on our cabin roof was both an audible pleasure and a practical disappointment.

We were attempting to hike up the Cradle Summit today and the rain left us uncertain of our plans. After a small discussion, we decided to carry on with our plans and head back to Dove Lake car park and set out on our hike. I had waterproof gear and my friend had a change of clothes, and with the mention of her father in law’s Tasmanian motto “if you wait for it to not be raining to see Tasmania, you probably won’t see much” (or something to the same effect) we had good reason for us to still head off. It was the low visibility that was the reasoning for us to not attempt to go all the way to the Cradle Summit and to get to Marriot’s Lookout would be our more realistic goal. We rugged up and set off from the car park at just after 8am, noting that the weather at least had deferred the tourists and all that remained were other more determined (or silly) hikers like ourselves.  We headed off on the trail that would take us to Marriott’s Lookout past Lake Lilla and via Wombat Pools and Crater Lake.

Not 10 mins into the trail and it was already pouring rain. The lovely, well maintained trail was quickly becoming a gushing stream and making good progress of leaving no dry parts of our feet. The weather also meant that we really couldn’t see a lot, and that elusive Cradle peak was obscured once again. We stopped as long as we could tolerate being still in the pouring rain at Wombat Pools, the lookout over Lake Lilla and  on the edge of Crater Lake. Once at Crater Lake, and after admiring the two waterfalls coming down the side of the crater that the weather had created, we started our ascent up to Marion’s lookout – the sign stating 25 mins.

The track up to Marion’s was very steep, and in same parts, literally vertical with steps and chains to climb up with which proved both challenging and fun. The further up we climbed, the better the view of Crater Lake and the louder the roar of the waterfalls got.

We were completely soaked and fairly exhausted by the time we made the top of Marion’s and the weather had at this point obscured visibility beyond about 5 meters in front of us – unfortunately yielding no view at all.

A few photos at the top and time to check our phones – apparently this was the only place in the whole of Northern Tassie with phone reception – and we started out descent down an alternative route which was nothing much other than a goat track. And by goat track I mean a steadily flowing stream. We headed down the stream/track with the occasional chain railing for support in those vertical parts, and bit of trekking and stumbling later, we made it down to Dove Lake and to the shelter of the car.

Next stop Sheffield for some phone reception and refuelling for the long drive back to Hobart. I had the biggest mug of Chai while we dried off a bit and regained our strength.

We stopped in briefly at Liffey Falls, at my friend’s vineyard (a phrase I’m still getting used to) and to observe the beautiful Mount Roland before the long drive back to Hobart.

And if I hadn’t already fallen completely in love with Tasmania, the sight of all the beautiful trees and mountain ranges really sealed the deal.

Tasmania, I love you and your wild rugged beauty – I’ll be back before long.

Why Iceland?

A lot of people asked me before I left, “why are you going to Iceland?”

Umm why the hell not?

“Have you not seen the place?” I replied.

But in all seriousness, why Iceland? Probably had something to do with the fact that it looked like the most amazing place on earth.
Big call I know.
But it absolutely was.


These were just some of the many things that I loved about Iceland:


I was fortunate to be staying a mere 10-15 mins walk from ‘Down town’ Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital city, and I really liked it as a city. It reminded me of a “cute little version” of my home city, Melbourne Australia.

Restaurants, cafes, quirky little home wares and clothing shops, op shops, and the abundance of street art is just a few of its charms. I spent a whole day there and most evenings just wandering the streets in search of food and anything that caught my eye.


As a vegan, I was a little concerned about the food options in a place like Iceland but it turned out to be one of my favourite places to eat. I was able to find good tasty meals, gelato and ice cream shops that catered for me, chip shops and health food shops for supplies.

I particularly loved the feel of the city and was more than happy to just be there. I don’t know whether it was the knowledge that Iceland is one of the most safe and peaceful places or that it it’s just a pleasant city. Maybe it was a bit of both.



Something I learned when visiting one of the country’s geothermal power plants, is that besides the geothermal energy being pumped from the plant to every home and business in Reykjavik – which in itself is amazing – is that in winter, they pump extra hot water under the streets in Reykjavik to heat the streets and therefore melting ice and providing safe and easy acces for cars and pedestrians in when its icy and snowy. Legends!

I have to say tho; my favourite thing about downtown Reykjavik was the fact that you can see mountains from the city. And I mean real close, as in you look down the street and there they are in all their ice capped glory. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.


The Blue Lagoon

I was almost put off going here because it’s such a tourist attraction and an overpriced one at that.

BUT, when I was given the opportunity to go after my ATV/Quad Bike tour I jumped at the chance. And I’m so glad I did.

I freakin’ loved it.

It is a goddamn beautiful place despite the amount of people there.

There is no doubt that the blue water is in fact magical, that the surrounding lava fields make a cool backdrop, that the mist over the surface of the water makes you feel like you are swimming in a place fit for mermaids. The heat of the water is sublime – especially in contrast to the outside temperature and especially if you have been out in the elements which I had.

Although I was there on my own and had a few hours in the pool, I did not get bored. In fact it was really hard to leave the water. It was so comforting and as already mentioned, sublime feeling being in there. I went on my last day and it was the last thing I really did before I left, so I used that time to just completely relax, to let go of everything I was holding on to and all the fatigue of the last month of constant adventure and activity. You know that feeling you get when you’re in the bath and just so completely relaxed and not a care in the world? Well x that by 1000000 and that’s how it felt. The ultimate big, blue, magical bath that wraps you up in the biggest hug.



Literal bliss.

Top tip: get your photo taken by the lagoon photographer – it’s free, they email it straight to you, and the photos look more magical than your own. Also, you MUST pre book your tickets as the likelihood of turning up and there still being a spot is slim to none.

The only thing I would have done differently – brought a robe or upgraded my entry fee to include one as the walk from the change rooms to the pool is cold, even in the ‘summer’ months.

Videy Island
The island is just a short ferry ride from Reykjavik. And by short ferry ride, I literally mean 5 minutes. And by ferry, they mean a small boat.


The island itself is pretty small, but a cool little place. It has a few art installations scattered across the island, as well as geese, seagulls, wildflowers and a few small hills to climb.

I don’t think anyone lives on the island, and there is just one building that looks like some sort of restaurant or café but I’m not sure if it operates anymore. I just spent some time there, wandering, exploring, admiring the view of Reykjavik from where I was, and enjoying the presence of not many other humans.



The main reason I went there because this is where the Imagine Peace Tower that Yoko Ono built in John Lennon’s honour is located. And despite the fact that it was summer there, I wouldn’t see it in all its glory (see below for the times it’s lit up throughout the year), I wanted to see it still. As I walked around the base of the tower, I felt moved to tears as I looked at the inscriptions of the words ‘Imagine Peace” in 24 different languages. Even though without the tower being lit up it isn’t much to look at, I felt overwhelming emotion over the intention of peace. That despite all the darkness and destruction in the world, there are many who genuinely want love and peace for all, and that’s a very beautiful thing.



Further info: it is also lit up at additional times of the year:
– On John Lennon’s birthday on Oct 9th and until Dec 8th on the anniversary of his death, from 8pm to midnight.
– On the Winter Solstice (December 21st) until New Year’s Eve (December 31st) until dawn on New Years Day.
– the first week of spring (March 20th -27th), from 8pm to midnight.
– In tribute to Yoko, the City of Reykjavik also lights the tower on her birthday February 18th from 7pm until 9am the following day.


Black Beaches

Most beaches in Iceland are black. Black sand, black pebbles and black rock formations. This is due to volcanic activity, and considering when we think of beaches we think yellow or white sand and blue water, the black beaches of Iceland are something to behold and revel.


The beaches themselves are literally black and white as the water appears clear or white, contrasted against the black sand and rocks. If I’m being completely honest, these beaches, especially Reynisfjara was one of the most incredible natural wonders I have ever seen, again convinced that I was on another planet.



As well as the beach itself, Reynisfjara has the Reynisdrangar or basalt columns to explore and Djúpalónssandur had ship wreck ruins.

As beautiful and incredible these beaches are, the danger of these beaches must be taken seriously. As are all beaches, the black beaches of Iceland can be deadly, particularly Reynisfjara and many have drowned here after being caught off guard. It is strongly advised to stay away from the water and never turn your back on the water as the waves are unpredictable and powerful.



The Snaefellsness Peninsula
From incredible lava fields, caves, to volcanoes, to wildlife, to ruggedly, painfully beautiful coast lines – this place has it all. I saw some seals here, birds I’d never seen before, one of Iceland’s Black Churches, went into a cave (arghh!), saw some more black beaches and a place where part of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty was filmed.




It’s definitely a special place. And considering that Jules Verne wrote ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’ after being inspired by this place, that definitely says something.



Didn’t TLC advise against going after waterfalls? Well screw that, I want to see them all. And I know you can get waterfalls almost anywhere, but Iceland has some beauties. I saw only a fraction of them:








But don’t just take my word for it, go there and see it for yourself.

Solo hike up Sugarloaf Mountain – Kinglake National Park

I rather like hiking alone.

There is something peaceful and empowering about it, and it gives you space to be alone with just your thoughts and mother nature.

So, when I have a day off and no one to go hiking with I never let that stop me.

I had just looked this hike up recently, and only decided to go while I was driving down the Eastern Freeway instead of going to Lake Mountain to climb that instead – I can be spontaneous sometimes. I guess subconsciously I was in the mood for punishment, because this trail was one of the hardest I have done in terms of endurance.

The trail I followed starts at Mason Falls Picnic Ground, but you could also start at Blackwood Picnic Ground or even the top of Mount Sugarloaf, but I think coming back up Sugarloaf last would be quite challenging as my only relief was the descent back being the last leg.

I took the trail from the picnic ground towards the falls and it’s about 700 meters to the viewing platform for Mason Falls, taking particular notice of the small hills I would need to walk back down on my way out. The falls are pretty nice, but you are pretty far away from them and I like my waterfalls close up.

I took the path with the sign pointing towards Sugarloaf Mountain and started my ascent. The next 8kms is essentially mostly uphill with few places to stops along the way, so I grabbed a chance to rest any opportunity I could. I also found a quiet spot on the left by the creek to sit down and peacefully have some snacks with the company of some Rosella’s.

I won’t mince words; it was a hard slog up to the top, so I just kept going despite the world of pain I was in, having many a rest stop to catch my breath and curse muchly. I have done a fair bit of hiking this year, and are no stranger to hills and summit climbs, but this was a killer for me. That 8kms of constant slow ascending was a huge challenge, and started to doubt my current physical state and level of fitness.

I really thought about turning back because I was hurting and I didn’t think I could make it back, but I’m stubborn and refuse to back down if I’ve set myself a challenge. Plus, I wasn’t dead yet.

The track was really nice in terms of being fairly well maintained, smooth, mostly free of obstacles, and full of lots of lovely lush Australian bush. But a track like that can get pretty boring as I do enjoy a bit of a challenge, lucky there were a few fallen trees to climb over to keep me interested.

Butterflies and finches kept me company most of the way, the butterflies getting real close even and circling around me as I walked.

Finally I saw some gates and a road and when I crossed over I saw the sign for Sugarloaf Ridge Track indicating that it’s just 900m’s to the top of Sugarloaf. Relief! The views along the way as they are quite nice, especially up the left hand site. You can see the surrounding hills and the evidence of the fires still after many years.

The top was kind of unceremonious as it’s practically just a parking lot because its accessible by road which is never what you want to see at a mountain summit. But hey, I made it and I was exhausted to I was going to enjoy the achievement no matter what. And the packed lunch and refuelling was much needed also.

To head back down I took the track to Blackwood Picnic ground, as it appeared shorter and I figured it would be the wise approach considering my present exhaustion level. It’s also nice not to have to take the same trail twice, and it did prove slightly shorter at 15kms instead of 16kms that it was supposed to be (but really, the extra 1km wouldn’t have killed me, or would it?).

I probably won’t do this one again, unless I’m training for something else that’s particularly heinous (yes, I just used a Law and Order: SVU reference).

Safe to say, I would be heading straight to the bath after this.