32/365
Helping her grandmother to open the gift she made for her at 29 days old. Belated Christmas gift giving is always fun when there's vibrant, noisy paper to scrunch and tear.
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
To Market, To Market
Bangalow Markets// Gluten Free Thai Rice Cake// A Furry Local
Fresh Sushi Food Truck// An Unusual Meeting// Local Limoncello// Handcrafted Wooden Furniture
I love community markets and I love being able to explore them during the cool winter months. Reminiscing over the recent markets we have visited I recall vibrant coloured craft stalls, exotic aromas from the food trucks, locally crafted musical instruments and somewhere in the centre of it all, a band played beautiful folk tunes.
These are regular scenes at the Channon Craft Market and Bellingen Community Markets. We're pretty lucky to live on the east coast, a short drive from these wonderful community events and I love getting out there to support and meet the friendly faces of the people behind the local produce. We met Imogen from Imogen's Farm, a local vineyard deep in the heart of the Byron Bay hinterland. Imogen names each of her special bottled wines after her grandchildren and we were fortunate to bring a bottle of her fortified limoncello home, which was made from bush lemons growing on Imogen's Farm. I will have to wait to try it for a few months but it will be well worth it!
My Bellingen Markets hoard included my first ukulele, a chance meeting with an enchanting camel (my first time, up close and personal. Ok, not too close as I was frightened it might spit on my huge grin), freshly squeezed fruit juice, an aloe vera plant and some spring onion shoots.
My Channon Market treasures included a box of organic veges, Lady Finger bananas, locally made soy tempeh, kombucha tea, sushi made-to-order, freshly squeezed juice, Imogen's prize winning 'Tilly' limoncello, and gluten free Thai rice cake, cut into bite sized pieces and served in a banana leaf.
Byron and I have been seriously considering opening a trialling a little food stall of our own. Once I finish uni this semester, I'd love to plan it carefully. I think it could be fun, with plenty of hidden surprises and fresh challenges.
Do you visit any local markets? Have you ever had a market stall? I'd love to hear your market stories!
Bella xx
Saturday, March 9, 2013
History
I love the sensation that washes over me when I visit a beautiful place. Sometimes I allow myself to be swept away in the scenery and usually I find myself in awe of the very specific history that has made a place what it is and how it appears in the present day. I believe the same can be said for people, what changes them and how they become the people they are now.
When I was barely 21, I stuffed my oversized backpack until it bulged at the seams and embarked on the trip of a lifetime. Armed with giant, bright brown eyes, a braid of glossy hair, and skinny legs that looked sure to buckle under the weight of my turtle-like luggage home, I began my adventure with gusto. My backpacking story began in Thailand and continued on to Europe in the summer, and although the trip preparation was years in the planning, the actual time spent overseas was just shy of six glorious months. With the world at my feet, I began my incredible journey in a relationship and in love.
Within a week I was by myself, dumped out-of-nowhere and utterly shell-shocked. It took me two weeks to get my act together and rediscover where I was and what opportunities lie ahead of me, if I only I could muster the courage to pick myself up, dust off my battered heart and take an active role in my holiday. I needed to get over the ex in record time to make the most of where I was and at 21 with rose-coloured glasses that were tainted by the end of a relationship I had to learn how to do that. Fast.
For two gruelling weeks after the break-up, Ex and I travelled together in misery as our trip had already been planned, including flights and accommodation with mutual friends who were dotted all over France and Spain. I would haveliked loved to separate from Day 1 but I had a strict, stingy budget so we made the most of the sad situation and put on brave faces for our company.
On my first night apart from Ex I found myself in Salamanca, Spain for the opening of the university orientation week. I hadn't timed my visit to the sandstone city to coincide with the gross influx of young people, it was a strange coincidence that I saw as a drawback, rather than an opportunity. A massive opening festival night had been planned and the city was filled, absolutely bursting with young students, not unlike my overstuffed backpack. I did not foresee how sad and lonely I would feel being apart from someone I loved but who had caused me so much uncaring distress in the recent weeks. At the bottom of my list of things to do was to enjoy a city in a country where I did not speak the local language, surrounded by what I interpreted as escalating threats for a young foreign women. No going out after dark, no talking to strangers for fear of being robbed or worse.
Perhaps my greatest disappointment was being in new, exciting and incredibly beautiful places that I had dreamt of for years before I met Ex and feeling like I could not appreciate the beauty because my mind was selfishly focused on my broken heart. How could I appreciate beauty when I had nobody I cared about to share it with?
I booked a single room furnished with a tiny hand basin (for Spanish midgets, I presumed) and a single bed with a flat pillow that I had no intention of using. At the end of the room was a tiny Juliet balcony with a small, spiky succulent plant overlooking a narrow cobblestone street. I sent a teary email home, showered and bought myself a basic dinner on my shoestring budget. I'd spent the majority of my day's allowance on the single room to pamper myself (read: to avoid the stares of people wondering about the crying Australian girl). It was by no means luxury, with the share bathroom down the long hall and my tiny box television that could not pick up decent reception, no matter how furiously I persisted with the rabbit ears, zapping myself and cursing my situation to hell.
It was around the time that I finished my second bite of my tomato and cheese baguette that I heard the distant sound of cheering over the crackle and fuzz of the spanish game show that I couldn't understand on the little television. I'd left the TV on for company and background noise but now my curiosity spiked when the cheering gave way to some of the most incredible music I had ever heard in my short life.
I made my way over to the balcony, where the music grew louder and intensified. As I pushed my sheer white curtain aside, a small group of young people amongst the sea of students below my room looked up and called out to me in spanish. My puzzled look must have intrigued them because the next words uttered were in broken english in their gorgeous, thick accents. It was an invitation, unmistakable and frightening.
How could I leave the safe sanctuary of my spanish apartment and go to a street party with a bunch of perfect spanish strangers?
I smiled nervously and shook my head, a few of the group had already turned away but one young couple stayed for a few moments before joining the rest of their friends. I backed away from the window and looked at the sorry state of my holiday. Here I was, alone and depressed eating a stupid baguette that didn't even have any oil or butter on it in a room by myself. I tossed the drab, dry baguette into the bin in frustration, brushed some of the crumbs from my bed, tied my hair back and washed my face in the little porcelain wash basin.
I then wandered down to the little convenience store next my hotel's entrance and bought a bottle of sangria. I felt the cool eyes of the shopkeeper on me as I fumbled around for a couple of euros, before hastily retreating back to the safety of my private room where I decided to drink directly from the bottle.
Halfway through my sweet sangria I started to relax. I loosened my hair, slipped on a pretty singlet that my mother had given me and slid into a pair of shorts. A few more glugs and I was really getting into a Spanish drama on my fuzzy TV by making up my own dialogue in English. Thoroughly entertained with my cleverness at humorous scriptwriting I continued to drink until my bottle was empty.
I brushed my teeth, smeared on some lipgloss and sat at the end of my bed, looking out the window as the sky outside darkened.
Feeling the familiar depressed girl creeping back into my thoughts, I made a spontaneous decision to join the party. Solo.
That was one of the best decisions of my life. It's embedded in my history, a distinct decision carved into my life story, a little faded with the passing years but there nonetheless.
Call it sangria-induced courage or desperation to be involved with fun, music, laughter and living. I can't be certain if it wasn't a little bit of both but I can be certain that amongst the twinkling festival lights, sensual strumming of spanish guitar and warm sandstone walls of the beautiful city that is Salamanca, I embarked on a new holiday. I was determined not to let Ex ruin what limited days I had left. I was determined to move forward, smiling and mean it.
By some spanish miracle I bumped into the couple that had called out to me earlier the same evening. We danced and laughed for hours and as the morning crept over us we parted ways with a genuine embrace as they reassured me, 'You're going to be ok Bella. This life is young, it's what you make it and you're in Spain!'
They were right. I was going to be ok and I am. I stopped searching for someone to share my life's experiences with and enjoyed myself. It was the best trip I have ever taken. I was truly present for the rest of it, involved in every decision and filled each day with as many activities and adventures as my tired feet could handle. It was a good thing too, because one day quite a few years later a stranger found me in a crowded bar where I was trying to get a job and introduced himself. Fast forward two years and we're married. He was worth the wait.
That morning after my night of dancing in the stone streets of Salamanca as I made my way back to my spanish room, I regained my independence and the sun seemed to glow a little brighter.
Bella xx
When I was barely 21, I stuffed my oversized backpack until it bulged at the seams and embarked on the trip of a lifetime. Armed with giant, bright brown eyes, a braid of glossy hair, and skinny legs that looked sure to buckle under the weight of my turtle-like luggage home, I began my adventure with gusto. My backpacking story began in Thailand and continued on to Europe in the summer, and although the trip preparation was years in the planning, the actual time spent overseas was just shy of six glorious months. With the world at my feet, I began my incredible journey in a relationship and in love.
Within a week I was by myself, dumped out-of-nowhere and utterly shell-shocked. It took me two weeks to get my act together and rediscover where I was and what opportunities lie ahead of me, if I only I could muster the courage to pick myself up, dust off my battered heart and take an active role in my holiday. I needed to get over the ex in record time to make the most of where I was and at 21 with rose-coloured glasses that were tainted by the end of a relationship I had to learn how to do that. Fast.
For two gruelling weeks after the break-up, Ex and I travelled together in misery as our trip had already been planned, including flights and accommodation with mutual friends who were dotted all over France and Spain. I would have
On my first night apart from Ex I found myself in Salamanca, Spain for the opening of the university orientation week. I hadn't timed my visit to the sandstone city to coincide with the gross influx of young people, it was a strange coincidence that I saw as a drawback, rather than an opportunity. A massive opening festival night had been planned and the city was filled, absolutely bursting with young students, not unlike my overstuffed backpack. I did not foresee how sad and lonely I would feel being apart from someone I loved but who had caused me so much uncaring distress in the recent weeks. At the bottom of my list of things to do was to enjoy a city in a country where I did not speak the local language, surrounded by what I interpreted as escalating threats for a young foreign women. No going out after dark, no talking to strangers for fear of being robbed or worse.
Perhaps my greatest disappointment was being in new, exciting and incredibly beautiful places that I had dreamt of for years before I met Ex and feeling like I could not appreciate the beauty because my mind was selfishly focused on my broken heart. How could I appreciate beauty when I had nobody I cared about to share it with?
I booked a single room furnished with a tiny hand basin (for Spanish midgets, I presumed) and a single bed with a flat pillow that I had no intention of using. At the end of the room was a tiny Juliet balcony with a small, spiky succulent plant overlooking a narrow cobblestone street. I sent a teary email home, showered and bought myself a basic dinner on my shoestring budget. I'd spent the majority of my day's allowance on the single room to pamper myself (read: to avoid the stares of people wondering about the crying Australian girl). It was by no means luxury, with the share bathroom down the long hall and my tiny box television that could not pick up decent reception, no matter how furiously I persisted with the rabbit ears, zapping myself and cursing my situation to hell.
It was around the time that I finished my second bite of my tomato and cheese baguette that I heard the distant sound of cheering over the crackle and fuzz of the spanish game show that I couldn't understand on the little television. I'd left the TV on for company and background noise but now my curiosity spiked when the cheering gave way to some of the most incredible music I had ever heard in my short life.
I made my way over to the balcony, where the music grew louder and intensified. As I pushed my sheer white curtain aside, a small group of young people amongst the sea of students below my room looked up and called out to me in spanish. My puzzled look must have intrigued them because the next words uttered were in broken english in their gorgeous, thick accents. It was an invitation, unmistakable and frightening.
How could I leave the safe sanctuary of my spanish apartment and go to a street party with a bunch of perfect spanish strangers?
I smiled nervously and shook my head, a few of the group had already turned away but one young couple stayed for a few moments before joining the rest of their friends. I backed away from the window and looked at the sorry state of my holiday. Here I was, alone and depressed eating a stupid baguette that didn't even have any oil or butter on it in a room by myself. I tossed the drab, dry baguette into the bin in frustration, brushed some of the crumbs from my bed, tied my hair back and washed my face in the little porcelain wash basin.
I then wandered down to the little convenience store next my hotel's entrance and bought a bottle of sangria. I felt the cool eyes of the shopkeeper on me as I fumbled around for a couple of euros, before hastily retreating back to the safety of my private room where I decided to drink directly from the bottle.
Halfway through my sweet sangria I started to relax. I loosened my hair, slipped on a pretty singlet that my mother had given me and slid into a pair of shorts. A few more glugs and I was really getting into a Spanish drama on my fuzzy TV by making up my own dialogue in English. Thoroughly entertained with my cleverness at humorous scriptwriting I continued to drink until my bottle was empty.
I brushed my teeth, smeared on some lipgloss and sat at the end of my bed, looking out the window as the sky outside darkened.
Feeling the familiar depressed girl creeping back into my thoughts, I made a spontaneous decision to join the party. Solo.
That was one of the best decisions of my life. It's embedded in my history, a distinct decision carved into my life story, a little faded with the passing years but there nonetheless.
Call it sangria-induced courage or desperation to be involved with fun, music, laughter and living. I can't be certain if it wasn't a little bit of both but I can be certain that amongst the twinkling festival lights, sensual strumming of spanish guitar and warm sandstone walls of the beautiful city that is Salamanca, I embarked on a new holiday. I was determined not to let Ex ruin what limited days I had left. I was determined to move forward, smiling and mean it.
By some spanish miracle I bumped into the couple that had called out to me earlier the same evening. We danced and laughed for hours and as the morning crept over us we parted ways with a genuine embrace as they reassured me, 'You're going to be ok Bella. This life is young, it's what you make it and you're in Spain!'
They were right. I was going to be ok and I am. I stopped searching for someone to share my life's experiences with and enjoyed myself. It was the best trip I have ever taken. I was truly present for the rest of it, involved in every decision and filled each day with as many activities and adventures as my tired feet could handle. It was a good thing too, because one day quite a few years later a stranger found me in a crowded bar where I was trying to get a job and introduced himself. Fast forward two years and we're married. He was worth the wait.
That morning after my night of dancing in the stone streets of Salamanca as I made my way back to my spanish room, I regained my independence and the sun seemed to glow a little brighter.
Bella xx
Sunday, February 24, 2013
8/52
"A portrait of my family, once a week, every week, in 2013."
Me: Playing around with Byron during a quiet escape to the country. I love that I can share my childish enthusiasm for adventures with him.
Usually I'm the one behind the lens but occasionally I pop up in the photos. On a quiet day we drove along a winding road that wrapped it's way through dark green mountains. We stopped for a couple of hours in a beautiful area to explore our surroundings and were surprised to find we were the only people there.
Byron and I both captured moments from our day trip and seconds before this shot was taken he took several pictures of me smiling normally into the round glass lens of our camera. I thought he would put the camera away when I skipped forward, poking my tongue out at him the way I usually do when I think nobody is watching us. It was then that I heard it. Click.
When it's just the two of us, we often joke around. We don't make a habit of playing on country roads, this photo was taken when there were no cars visible for miles. There was nothing but the sound of beautiful birds calling to one another and water trickling nearby.
I thought about adding pictures of my family for this week of the 52 project but instead decided upon this picture. I'm a part of my family and the person who took this picture was my husband. He captured me the way I am with him and that's something sweet and unique to us that I thought would be fun to share with you.
I've really enjoyed being a part of Jodi's project and have visited countless sites from other friendly bloggers out there who have linked up.
Thank you for sharing parts of your lives with the rest of us. I hope your family and friends take as much care and interest in taking your picture as you do taking photos of them.
Love Bella xx
P.S. A quick reminder that our giveaway ends on the 28th of this very month. That's four short days left to enter! Click here to enter and Good Luck!
Monday, January 14, 2013
The Jetty Carnival
I know it's late but Vimeo does limit how much you can upload, plus I've been quite busy painstakingly trying to self-teach myself how to use Photoshop CS6 and thus far my efforts have been in vain. Should I allow that to deter me?
NO!!!
It simply means I need to make more time to sit down in front of my MacBook Pro with a cup of tea and perhaps alittle lot more patience.
New Year's Eve 2012 at the Jetty Carnival. Fireworks over the sea, carnival rides, families, music, laughter and the final hours of a beautiful year. Music credits to the incredibly talented Yann Tiersen. Bonne année et bonne santé!
To my friends out there who stop by every now and again, thank you for for popping in, it truly means a lot to me. To those of you who are new to my little blog, a HUGE 'Welcome!' and please come back whenever you like, I've got plenty more recipes, images and tales from our seaside life to share. Until the next time we meet, keep smiling!
Love Bella xx
NO!!!
It simply means I need to make more time to sit down in front of my MacBook Pro with a cup of tea and perhaps a
The Jetty Carnival from Bella Mills on Vimeo.
New Year's Eve 2012 at the Jetty Carnival. Fireworks over the sea, carnival rides, families, music, laughter and the final hours of a beautiful year. Music credits to the incredibly talented Yann Tiersen. Bonne année et bonne santé!
To my friends out there who stop by every now and again, thank you for for popping in, it truly means a lot to me. To those of you who are new to my little blog, a HUGE 'Welcome!' and please come back whenever you like, I've got plenty more recipes, images and tales from our seaside life to share. Until the next time we meet, keep smiling!
Love Bella xx
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