tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737611261402307252024-03-16T10:20:58.357+10:30Jane Turner GoldsmithAn 'occasional' blogJane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.comBlogger203125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-61360646413676445952024-03-16T10:20:00.000+10:302024-03-16T10:20:10.965+10:30This...Life published this morning in The Weekend Australian<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This...Life published this morning in The Weekend Australian</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUaYMMyfP7vR1PpqGGBoh8aMKSn3Eu-JWQehjEnT35G46MNqzrqe9J-2jf2qak_5aGG6iVhf-nyk29FBqbU8Z8pWx0g9VNMsbHi92GFrtRSJDHTbljGic5tGfJmKQwfjTAY_Ht1mrBjDHUubL99H_Q1v6cJMx-bIM5h-oS5lZdPUw8C7oPMov7r1oHeFr/s4032/PXL_20240315_223900780.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUaYMMyfP7vR1PpqGGBoh8aMKSn3Eu-JWQehjEnT35G46MNqzrqe9J-2jf2qak_5aGG6iVhf-nyk29FBqbU8Z8pWx0g9VNMsbHi92GFrtRSJDHTbljGic5tGfJmKQwfjTAY_Ht1mrBjDHUubL99H_Q1v6cJMx-bIM5h-oS5lZdPUw8C7oPMov7r1oHeFr/s320/PXL_20240315_223900780.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-2790326309909619192024-03-04T08:47:00.000+10:302024-03-04T08:47:04.452+10:30The Essential Worker - seven short stories published and one Pushcart nominated<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UoN936QITYLx3Fzj1LnaA0jE5WR603As17yRSfVVTmXQMSVsVY5XY8tFcrPXsGifcvDoq8X8TZb_jkgqYnL5or73zaNrSl96usHaGtWBX6UUxKIjwTuOUVNulS70KQqHQpfFFK3rc6JPjZ3wZUC2yLwZ51_26mh0VTSENPdpXTyLXVpp5NTp_Pc4JKBX/s1074/truckie%20Robert%20Peet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="1074" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UoN936QITYLx3Fzj1LnaA0jE5WR603As17yRSfVVTmXQMSVsVY5XY8tFcrPXsGifcvDoq8X8TZb_jkgqYnL5or73zaNrSl96usHaGtWBX6UUxKIjwTuOUVNulS70KQqHQpfFFK3rc6JPjZ3wZUC2yLwZ51_26mh0VTSENPdpXTyLXVpp5NTp_Pc4JKBX/s320/truckie%20Robert%20Peet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://www.echapbook.com/fiction/goldsmith2/index.html">The Essential Worker</a><p></p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-20457773674340206472024-03-03T11:37:00.002+10:302024-03-03T11:37:24.509+10:30<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>"Sudden Stops are Sometimes Necessary" published last Dec in the Threepenny Review<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtBY0rWnoF45eX8cxxd60HM9vc7fsUCzgy-kVCtRqyk2zPXR7Aaf22xFaE8WNZiPj0_amrncD4X36cliUDtJfS0XSZ19GpPMhfL1Mx9xB4Oa4Vs7HKsxFBrxYh2TTvm4TiHsB0e138eQY9UYGkjulbme2OBKDMrHH-Uyjx_Uhyphenhyphen-sav8VTTphj0vIJzXG4/s4032/Threepenny%20Review%20TOC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtBY0rWnoF45eX8cxxd60HM9vc7fsUCzgy-kVCtRqyk2zPXR7Aaf22xFaE8WNZiPj0_amrncD4X36cliUDtJfS0XSZ19GpPMhfL1Mx9xB4Oa4Vs7HKsxFBrxYh2TTvm4TiHsB0e138eQY9UYGkjulbme2OBKDMrHH-Uyjx_Uhyphenhyphen-sav8VTTphj0vIJzXG4/s320/Threepenny%20Review%20TOC.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0EjbZ5Bz-tPIPFt2CmsTo3FvglCJcoHK0mF2dTO8VNfQjcp-oS3l2Pr7QRxj0PmBXoAgdoh11vfENw4XfJS-hpwuIF9Y8wrlTkIIpJSsmmjPF092ZaWUPH2gq4v_QVuu-0H4yup4vLg_jQr788essu6tbOJBaxHC8kd3eODUEl1wIm7V4eW6Lz25OFFX/s3250/Sudden%20Stops%20p%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3250" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0EjbZ5Bz-tPIPFt2CmsTo3FvglCJcoHK0mF2dTO8VNfQjcp-oS3l2Pr7QRxj0PmBXoAgdoh11vfENw4XfJS-hpwuIF9Y8wrlTkIIpJSsmmjPF092ZaWUPH2gq4v_QVuu-0H4yup4vLg_jQr788essu6tbOJBaxHC8kd3eODUEl1wIm7V4eW6Lz25OFFX/s320/Sudden%20Stops%20p%201.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVQ14Z-MPBpZaOzitb1lMUD1Ck1oDzH82Fa3UEal5aVNNxbGcpfqOnHrBX30diIx-o2nHwFGM9oP707jZrZcDUoEr13iqwuWPiT1UVARh33eLwoyr1KXFc3ixCZiCUTAD9GkT7Oh0_yktCXsN4pPlxc0uCp1m954MhfV0CPsgmcogE5SNHxkIn1uZ96l-/s3470/Sudden%20Stops%20p%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3470" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVQ14Z-MPBpZaOzitb1lMUD1Ck1oDzH82Fa3UEal5aVNNxbGcpfqOnHrBX30diIx-o2nHwFGM9oP707jZrZcDUoEr13iqwuWPiT1UVARh33eLwoyr1KXFc3ixCZiCUTAD9GkT7Oh0_yktCXsN4pPlxc0uCp1m954MhfV0CPsgmcogE5SNHxkIn1uZ96l-/s320/Sudden%20Stops%20p%202.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-5573002763590429182023-07-17T08:30:00.003+09:302023-07-17T08:30:41.099+09:30My Review of Emily Perkins' novel in in The Conversation <p> https://protect-au.mimecast.com/s/KTOICnx14ou5gr1gU9OJRK?domain=theconversation.com</p><p><br /></p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-4544928702894628692023-05-07T11:20:00.001+09:302023-05-07T11:21:11.600+09:30Floral Arrangements<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigr4ZB0GamNhUm5rMFGfFNHBrcGZB3i08ZNddHWvV24aXkj2gpPlS3gI3EfRsMqWkPXgopN5AKtw1CsMW8wMG84nsR9K9J1jgBY9kVd56RwdEOWOFcbNmW5_bvXyaG_wyWkGJXQ5d3p_UGXchup3p9NOiVWEZjsyVJqOVgZO5lXGcnke5oVqS8-Tq7g/s4032/Floral%20Arrangements.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigr4ZB0GamNhUm5rMFGfFNHBrcGZB3i08ZNddHWvV24aXkj2gpPlS3gI3EfRsMqWkPXgopN5AKtw1CsMW8wMG84nsR9K9J1jgBY9kVd56RwdEOWOFcbNmW5_bvXyaG_wyWkGJXQ5d3p_UGXchup3p9NOiVWEZjsyVJqOVgZO5lXGcnke5oVqS8-Tq7g/s320/Floral%20Arrangements.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>My Story <a href="https://saltbushreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/Saltbush-Issue-3-Floral-Arrangements-Turner-Goldsmith.pdf">"Floral Arrangements"</a> , one of the stories in my composite novel <i>The Essential Worker</i> published in <a href="https://saltbushreview.com/issue-3/">The Saltbush Review</a>.</p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-27849618582411472502023-03-23T18:28:00.001+10:302023-03-23T18:28:39.301+10:30Part One of my interview with Kate Cooper on the writing life on Vision Australia radio (30 minutes) <p><a href="https://omny.fm/shows/emerging-writers/18-mar-2023-emerging-writers-jane-turner-goldsmith" target="_blank">Jane Turner Goldsmith radio interview part one</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1UaUoNEOK0ZFhMe5YL60MZuy65AqViVN5--ew3o9ZlzMl3vZrr8mTN0bY8sisJbrQymMawEcYuDtqBJZ5eNeHZ30_iT6EW9_WTwYzHgUMjYlEWn1ulTWVPP0p1iOZ5_xlb0DP3mc1Vtrq72GazfgBAV5SZ0_x2-QbmGKRsDGixCLxUW-s3Lo8o16j2A/s225/VA%20emerging%20writers.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1UaUoNEOK0ZFhMe5YL60MZuy65AqViVN5--ew3o9ZlzMl3vZrr8mTN0bY8sisJbrQymMawEcYuDtqBJZ5eNeHZ30_iT6EW9_WTwYzHgUMjYlEWn1ulTWVPP0p1iOZ5_xlb0DP3mc1Vtrq72GazfgBAV5SZ0_x2-QbmGKRsDGixCLxUW-s3Lo8o16j2A/s1600/VA%20emerging%20writers.png" width="225" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-87663715394532274872021-10-18T11:39:00.004+10:302021-10-18T11:39:32.076+10:30Reading at the Launch of the Saltbush Review November 3rd<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhFqiV-sMB-PelSrBhLHjRS2WJYixkdtMYhie9KDGjG46XLJG9-Fdi8oS9EcjRWVMfBw5dqJWNpaETZEWb-kgmh4aX7FkWbUm_wXITKUGVEtCTT9gzfGCG31la7HJ6EZ7hNDTKp2fKl5t/s2048/SBR+wheatie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhFqiV-sMB-PelSrBhLHjRS2WJYixkdtMYhie9KDGjG46XLJG9-Fdi8oS9EcjRWVMfBw5dqJWNpaETZEWb-kgmh4aX7FkWbUm_wXITKUGVEtCTT9gzfGCG31la7HJ6EZ7hNDTKp2fKl5t/w452-h640/SBR+wheatie.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-58745485733765132952021-10-18T10:16:00.007+10:302021-10-18T11:37:42.205+10:30Published in Overland Summer 2021<a href="https://overland.org.au/previous-issues/issue-241/fiction-smoke-road/"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://overland.org.au/previous-issues/issue-241/fiction-smoke-road/"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmbr-t9Wc130gRv65el0NrO_FoPaVYYr3g1lWlnanRHRdZjehw9BtmU-mfXwAiH0nTJiiNcX56PfSZ2cTyV5-WarSa9mxeusRRN1Ifmi_oj452W9Oa4ZS_-7PxAJfwJcuUsXCfIqunPkv/s2048/20180928-P9280474.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmbr-t9Wc130gRv65el0NrO_FoPaVYYr3g1lWlnanRHRdZjehw9BtmU-mfXwAiH0nTJiiNcX56PfSZ2cTyV5-WarSa9mxeusRRN1Ifmi_oj452W9Oa4ZS_-7PxAJfwJcuUsXCfIqunPkv/w400-h300/20180928-P9280474.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Smoke Road<p> </p>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-23848408343132766572021-10-18T10:15:00.006+10:302021-10-18T10:23:00.939+10:30A couple of Shortlistings<p> <a href="https://www.writearoundthemurray.org.au/competitions/alburycity-short-story-award">Albury City Short Story Award</a></p><p><br /></p><div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-family: "PT Serif", "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, Palladio, "URW Palladio L", "Book Antiqua", Baskerville, "Bookman Old Style", "Bitstream Charter", "Nimbus Roman No9 L", Garamond, "Apple Garamond", "ITC Garamond Narrow", "New Century Schoolbook", "Century Schoolbook", "Century Schoolbook L", Georgia, serif; letter-spacing: 0.03em; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 2.25rem; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 1.75rem;">"</span><span style="font-size: medium;">Announcing the 2021 Shortlist</span></div><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #495057; font-family: "PT Sans", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "Noto Color Emoji"; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; padding-left: 1.5rem;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Language of Grace</em> by Jane Turner Goldsmith, Belair SA</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;">THIRD PLACE - <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Ava </em>by Josh Donellan, Brisbane QLD</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Prison Bells and Jasmine</em> by Kitty Owens, Coburg North VIC</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Ignorant Armies</em> by Paulette Gittins, South Yarra VIC</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Heat</em> by Margo Daly, East Fremantle WA</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Consultant</em> by Sean Crawley, Long Jetty NSW</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Jupiter </em>by Ruth Bell, Newtown NSW</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;">FIRST PLACE - <em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a href="https://www.writearoundthemurray.org.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0005/318974/Mine.pdf" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #e55302; font-weight: 600; text-decoration-line: none;">Mine</a></em> by Rebecca Howden, Kensington VIC</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Even the Silence</em> by Keren Heenan, Montmorency VIC</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Judgement </em>by Kevin Brophy, Brunswick VIC</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Cabin </em>by Jennie Keenan, Burrumbuttock NSW</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Postcards </em>by Leonie Orton, Rosemount QLD</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Rest Periods</em> by Ellen Rodger, Newtown NSW</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;">SECOND PLACE - <em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a href="https://www.writearoundthemurray.org.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0006/318975/AlburyCity-Short-Story-Mikey.pdf" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #e55302; font-weight: 600; text-decoration-line: none;">Mikey</a></em> by Vivien MacJohn, Forest Lodge NSW</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.75rem;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Trove Hunter</em> by Roger Vickery, Freshwater NSW"</li></ul><div><span face="PT Sans, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica Neue, Arial, sans-serif, Apple Color Emoji, Segoe UI Emoji, Segoe UI Symbol, Noto Color Emoji" style="color: #495057;"><br /></span></div><div><span face="PT Sans, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica Neue, Arial, sans-serif, Apple Color Emoji, Segoe UI Emoji, Segoe UI Symbol, Noto Color Emoji" style="color: #495057;"><br /></span></div><div><span face="PT Sans, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica Neue, Arial, sans-serif, Apple Color Emoji, Segoe UI Emoji, Segoe UI Symbol, Noto Color Emoji" style="color: #495057;">and The Sydney Hammond Memorial Short Story Competition 2021:</span></div><div><span face="PT Sans, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica Neue, Arial, sans-serif, Apple Color Emoji, Segoe UI Emoji, Segoe UI Symbol, Noto Color Emoji" style="color: #495057;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="feed-shared-update-v2__description-wrapper" style="background-color: white; border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.9); font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", "Fira Sans", Ubuntu, Oxygen, "Oxygen Sans", Cantarell, "Droid Sans", "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "Lucida Grande", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);" tabindex="0"><div class="feed-shared-inline-show-more-text feed-shared-update-v2__description feed-shared-inline-show-more-text--minimal-padding feed-shared-inline-show-more-text--5-lines feed-shared-inline-show-more-text--expanded" style="--artdeco-reset-typography_getlineheight: 1.42857; -webkit-line-clamp: initial; background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: 2rem; margin: 0px 16px; max-height: none; max-width: 928px; overflow: hidden; padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); position: relative; vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);" tabindex="-1"><div class="feed-shared-text relative feed-shared-update-v2__commentary" dir="ltr" style="--artdeco-reset-typography_getfontsize: 1.4rem; --artdeco-reset-typography_getlineheight: 1.42857; background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; color: var(--color-text); font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-typography_getFontSize); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); position: relative; vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);"><span class="break-words" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline); word-break: break-word;"><span dir="ltr" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);"> </span></span></div><div class="feed-shared-text relative feed-shared-update-v2__commentary" dir="ltr" style="--artdeco-reset-typography_getfontsize: 1.4rem; --artdeco-reset-typography_getlineheight: 1.42857; background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; color: var(--color-text); font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-typography_getFontSize); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); position: relative; vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);"><span class="break-words" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline); word-break: break-word;"><span dir="ltr" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);">Also in this one: Sydney Hammond memorial Short Story Award 2021</span></span></div><div class="feed-shared-text relative feed-shared-update-v2__commentary" dir="ltr" style="--artdeco-reset-typography_getfontsize: 1.4rem; --artdeco-reset-typography_getlineheight: 1.42857; background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; color: var(--color-text); font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-typography_getFontSize); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); position: relative; vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);"><span class="break-words" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline); word-break: break-word;"><span dir="ltr" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);">(winner announced this Friday 22nd October)<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" /><br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" /><br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" /><br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />"It is with the greatest pleasure that we announce the Shortlist for the Sydney Hammond Memorial Short Story Competition 2021. Congratulations to these writers (in no particular order):<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Cover Talk by Maggie Veness, Tasmania, Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- 6th of September 2018 by Mulay Sangeeta, Great Britain<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Dumpster Zone by Jane Turner Goldsmith, South Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Five to Ten by Paul Blanksby, New South Wales, Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Faithy’s Shillelagh by Kathleen Hastings, Queensland, Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Betrayal by Gillian Brown, France<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Gold Rush by Zachary Pryor, Victoria, Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Accept, Deal, Repeat by Helen Booth, Victoria, Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" />- Dirty Bastard by Pamela Baker, Victoria, Australia<br style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;" /> - Cratered by T. L. Ransome, United States"</span></span></div><div><span class="break-words" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline); word-break: break-word;"><span dir="ltr" style="background: var(--artdeco-reset-base-background-transparent); border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; font-size: var(--artdeco-reset-base-font-size-hundred-percent); line-height: inherit; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); outline: var(--artdeco-reset-base-outline-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);"><br /></span></span></div></div></div><div class="social-details-social-activity update-v2-social-activity" id="ember2186" style="background-color: white; border: var(--artdeco-reset-base-border-zero); box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.9); font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", "Fira Sans", Ubuntu, Oxygen, "Oxygen Sans", Cantarell, "Droid Sans", "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "Lucida Grande", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: var(--artdeco-reset-base-margin-zero); padding: var(--artdeco-reset-base-padding-zero); vertical-align: var(--artdeco-reset-base-vertical-align-baseline);"></div></div>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-26960039184715905712020-02-24T14:33:00.002+10:302020-02-24T14:35:20.292+10:30Hard to Get the Surname Right!<br />
Pleased to be published in 'Passager' - a journal for writers over 50!<br />
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(Even if under Jane Goldsmith...Better than Jane Tuner-Goldsmith I suppose.)<br />
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I was also shortlisted and published in this anthology...<br />
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Even though there's no hyphen in my surname.</div>
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We're getting closer...</div>
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I suppose I should just be pleased, and better luck next time. :)Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-76059304143342564522019-07-15T23:09:00.001+09:302021-01-12T17:06:32.409+10:30Five days on Kythera<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="color: black;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">'Not all may sail to Kythera' and they say you should always allow an extra two days either side of
your visit to this legendary island... the oceans might swell or the mists lower, and your
plane or once weekly ferry might be cancelled. Ours wasn't exactly cancelled
but it must have been a close call, as the winds were high and the white horses
bucking at Kissamos harbour. The crew were handing out sick bags before the ship
departed. Later we discovered we had sailed in a gale force wind - Beaufort scale of 8 - not exactly a hurricane but not far off!...In any case, we sailed, on a rolling vessel and we made it to
mysterious and mythical Kythera. Once the ground had stabilised and we had driven up along
the ridge with already breathtaking views, we stopped to ask directions at a
souvlaki bar (also partaking of a coca cola - yes, the only antidote to
seasickness) - and started to take in the peculiar mix of dramatic natural beauty,
fascinating historical relics and welcoming locals that this island offers.</span></span></span><br />
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Looking back to the port of Diakofti and the wild seas!</div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Kythera is mythically the birthplace of the goddess of love,
Aphrodite, who arose out of the swell of the sea (after Cronus cut off Uranus's
genitals, as the legend goes...). The baths of Aphrodite, with their limestone
arches rising out of the billowing seas, lure you - you see plenty of
photos on the tourist pamphlets, but, like many of the island's secrets, can be
frustratingly hard to get to (but see below).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRQgeIEiVcDL9eDkblI4BxOP0bPagz9upoGPcXtrEhyphenhyphenqbTrZL13hZ5HZ3bmSGWeBH8OpEI5zPV-EbQ-fkiyzb-c2L9z_0frpiDsF7EU6fwggK5IguCncdhac04YrPYNLD8qHuGirY-Ky5/s1600/20190704-P7040139.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRQgeIEiVcDL9eDkblI4BxOP0bPagz9upoGPcXtrEhyphenhyphenqbTrZL13hZ5HZ3bmSGWeBH8OpEI5zPV-EbQ-fkiyzb-c2L9z_0frpiDsF7EU6fwggK5IguCncdhac04YrPYNLD8qHuGirY-Ky5/s400/20190704-P7040139.JPG" width="400" /></span></a><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">But we saw plenty! Two monasteries, two springs, two bakeries,
more than seven tavernas, byzantine frescoes housed in a museum-church
(that was actually open, of the 300 + that are on the 280 square kilometers of
the island!), ruined Venetian castles, fertile valleys, dramatic gorges, waterfalls,
a water course with disused watermills, stunning and deserted beaches and hip towns with a newly established nightlife scene alongside cafes and outdoor tavernas in the church square, incredible sunsets looking
back to the Peloponnese, a pottery, a little fishing harbour...it is quite an
amazing place for a small island with a population of less than 2,000 in the
off season - which is most of the year.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Kythera opens up to tourists in July and August and many - it felt
like most - of these are Australians of Kytherian origin, part of the
mass migration after WW2 - returning with their families. In the most remote
village, don't bother with your Greek phrase book, they will call over Philip or
Yiannis who was in Brisbane or Sydney and who speaks English with the broadest
accent, to help you find your spring or your Byzantine church. But despite this
apparently unnatural influx of tourists, it still feels like a 'real' island.
Most of the businesses do their hard work in summer but remain open all year.
There are several pharmacies, ATM terminals, car hire companies, tavernas in
remote locations and hotels and guest houses that are surviving and some even
flourishing, due to the willingness of young Kytherians or Greeks from other
islands or parts of the mainland seeking to start up something different and
enticing.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o0p3hmVe7HOIbOUFExO3ry2UYs7zOLllZhjtLozXq_bNzr8oMHbRL3xYOfgfC3Msl52ddWVWMyPPPbZeksl2fpZspD7mm9n635l6GraiK1V8wekzsgseegu-WET09LERO3bAwsQ-CIj4/s1600/20190703-P7030073.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o0p3hmVe7HOIbOUFExO3ry2UYs7zOLllZhjtLozXq_bNzr8oMHbRL3xYOfgfC3Msl52ddWVWMyPPPbZeksl2fpZspD7mm9n635l6GraiK1V8wekzsgseegu-WET09LERO3bAwsQ-CIj4/s640/20190703-P7030073.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
North of the island, looking towards the Peloponnese</div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We drove to our guesthouse - Xenonas Fos Ke Choros, an
incredible construction (from scratch) by Albert Blok, originally from the
Netherlands, using local stones (of which there are endless supplies) and design. Just to stay here
was an experience in itself, sensational views at every turn - of the valley
with hilltop towns, the Ionian sea, the dry stone walling, the brilliant blue
everywhere. Inside was cool stone aesthetics and comfort, very private, space
to spread out and witness the sky changing and the brilliant starry nights. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxq4BqEL7aIBhkKqQwKW6RC5TM1I8GOr6jBjK1L93Io8JrCsBeTapArF-Y7LMMwro9ZykrKvpBtzWqBfbft8yhiowr0e-wahEzoJ3cf7m-A7GCofAgI0cENPK4WCJ7SyZOzVh8AW3QShL/s1600/20190701-P7010010.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxq4BqEL7aIBhkKqQwKW6RC5TM1I8GOr6jBjK1L93Io8JrCsBeTapArF-Y7LMMwro9ZykrKvpBtzWqBfbft8yhiowr0e-wahEzoJ3cf7m-A7GCofAgI0cENPK4WCJ7SyZOzVh8AW3QShL/s640/20190701-P7010010.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Romantic Xenonas Fos ke Choros at night</td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Simple meal in the kathenion down the road completed a rough day rendered
tranquil!</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;">Albert's information enabled us to put together a comprehensive
itinerary to capture the best sights and experiences. In his brochure we
discovered the Monastery at Damianos was open on the 1st July (the </span><i style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;">only</i><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"> day it was open
all year!) so we headed for that.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">This ‘family’ monastery, Agios Kosmas, was set into bare hillside, with the brilliant deep blue of the Mediterranean
beyond. The service apparently started at 7am but it was 10.30 by the time we’d
finished our leisurely breakfast of yoghurt, honey and peaches. It was standing room only inside the church. We didn’t enter but
could peek into the richly decorated interior where a whiskered and
glamorously robed priest was swinging incense and chanting. </span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Greeks seem to come and go quite casually during their (rather long) services. There were people of all ages. At one point everyone exited and filed down to a wooded copse, where more blessings and flapping and blessings with bunches of strongly scented thyme and rosemary continued. I managed to get a photo of the kindly priest.</span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Afterwards they handed out special sweet </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">bread and holy water, </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtN-Ti03CjJ4Y-DypJ53zDc6nlIRPjGAvE7lCabc8Toii0Yc5muA1bqsIdidppyWiA1Ne29SvRxddRo3eZCYr4-PcRtnyneey7yb35yzAf-avVM7hRPViNrKLB1YPd9hY549DagO0dzO8O/s1600/20190701-P7011783.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtN-Ti03CjJ4Y-DypJ53zDc6nlIRPjGAvE7lCabc8Toii0Yc5muA1bqsIdidppyWiA1Ne29SvRxddRo3eZCYr4-PcRtnyneey7yb35yzAf-avVM7hRPViNrKLB1YPd9hY549DagO0dzO8O/s320/20190701-P7011783.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">at which point,
having partaken of some, we departed for our next monastery, Myrtidiotissa, another
one quietly sited on a peaceful slope, this one a little higher and with sweeping
views to the sea. We drove down a rough track to what we thought was going to
be a beach, winding treacherously down a dizzyingly high and narrow one-car
lane 'road', getting lost, but looking back to an incredible view of the Agia Sofia
cave (4 million year history) and the mountains plunging straight into the sea.
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The roads are generally quite well signposted in Greek and English but they
don’t always follow the one printed on the tourist map. Back to Mylopotamos
where I had read of lush waterfalls, watermills and brooks as well as a
legendary taverna under the plane trees. We certainly found the taverna,
impossible to miss, and unfortunately already overflowing with busloads of
tourists…who turned out to be, surprise, surprise, <i>Australian</i>. It looked
like the taverna was not to be that day, as advised by a local woman selling
gorgeous smelling botanical products, soaps and creams and such - who turned out
to be Sottish. She suggested we eat after the crowds had subsided, and to walk beyond
the ‘Murderess’s waterfall', down the irrigation stream that used to
power the 23 Neraidos (water nymph) watermills of a bygone era.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">It was certainly pretty at </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">Fonissa,</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: start;"> but marred by the bus crowd and people taking selfies against the waterfall. Again, the tip to continue on was rewarded, we met Philip, watering his beautiful </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">gardens within </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">a stone courtyard, who must have been the caretaker of a little museum where artefacts from the watermill era were on display. No longer the crowds to warrant keeping the museum open, which felt a little sad.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">But we kept walking and past more gorgeous little waterfalls </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">and through ferny glades, </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">with a sound track of creaking frog life, trickling water; very peaceful. Back at the lower end of Mylopotamos we wandered through a strange little town of abandoned dwellings, one or two carefully renovated and inhabited…a strange experience. </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Back at the taverna, still no easing of the clientele, so
we decided to head back, have a snack, rest, and venture out again for dinner.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">It proved to be a great choice. We headed up to Potamus
(getting lost at first again on the little winding lanes and ending up in
another tiny village, mostly deserted and crumbling but greeted cheerfully by
an old lady in her dressing gown). Potamus was a great little town, very 'happening', lots going on, people - not just tourists - everywhere, lots of shops and nice big
village square with restaurants and village life. Even bars and coffee
shops…the new guard. We shopped for souvenirs from the Maneas general store
(nice linen and a ball of sisal string, made in Greece) that really took my
fancy, I don’t know why. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxUWlDcSS5a8HHEoGIQqkGQXnaj-taW_2pMm6Yw_TeeGOcJYeNULT0ZYOHtRfPbz_mqYniAz1yKFBpNPa5h5_Qycu5pTUf_RIDn3Zz0S_5cBqOcd2wRjYLfXxazPZ-zxWKtY5T1QZ1pZw/s1600/WP_20190702_02_55_35_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxUWlDcSS5a8HHEoGIQqkGQXnaj-taW_2pMm6Yw_TeeGOcJYeNULT0ZYOHtRfPbz_mqYniAz1yKFBpNPa5h5_Qycu5pTUf_RIDn3Zz0S_5cBqOcd2wRjYLfXxazPZ-zxWKtY5T1QZ1pZw/s640/WP_20190702_02_55_35_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maneas' general store in Potamus</td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">I bought some tsipoura from a local artisan who also
sold herbs and jams. As soon as we sat down at our chosen restaurant a man from
Brisbane spotted us and came over to chat. (</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">I guess we look like Australian tourists!)</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> He and the other couple they were
with come regularly to the place of their birth. They rent out apartments in
Agia Pelagia and love their holiday there every year. Food in Crete and now Kythira I have found to always be
excellent, even the most mediocre taverna serves up a great salad and the ‘fried
potatoes’ are always good as they are cooked in olive oil, which just cannot be
of poor quality even if it tried. We had zucchini flowers stuffed with cheese,
pork in lemon sauce and roasted aubergine slices with meat and tomatoes…yum.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4BovQGhn1kiIrwf0Y7DYIMJF92Fd5gSYQfVZb8afNnOqiXn6qch5f2j10oQX5xuw-AZYUxP7EIw4y8iugs9P-G-GqYbgbHADmlN37B0Es2eiJQUlRsFQTRKDr5BtSrY025YQE9cwxEOq/s1600/20190704-P7040140.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4BovQGhn1kiIrwf0Y7DYIMJF92Fd5gSYQfVZb8afNnOqiXn6qch5f2j10oQX5xuw-AZYUxP7EIw4y8iugs9P-G-GqYbgbHADmlN37B0Es2eiJQUlRsFQTRKDr5BtSrY025YQE9cwxEOq/s320/20190704-P7040140.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Next day we headed southward, down through Karvounades but missing
the bakery (which apparently has its own historic wood oven) ...anyway we headed on through
to Livadi, another busy little town and stopping, this time, at the bakery, also
famed. I got out my Greek phrase book, ready to look up numbers and quantities of all sorts
of Greek sweets and pastries, when the woman fired back at me in her broad
Queensland accent. She’d lived for many years there but had returned to Livadi with her husband. We bought <i>bougatsa</i>, my absolute favourite, <i>loukoumi</i>, Greek delight
with rosewater (also known as Turkish delight but the Greek version is pretty good), <i>amygdalota</i>
(almond) biscuits and other pastries we really shouldn’t have purchased and didn’t need…</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAXQWSZ8amj9xP0M160J9yNsExkkyKDgG5fD_aAq3bYptlhIGJ3mio-78TRVRLkJbofn7ns5ICGUSx-Mwyp4AQDyCHRTpBvmGCZPZKh8FuQ2e0MiFH0M3fOTFRN5IsglMGPowSwsDbdQe/s1600/20190702-P7020015.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAXQWSZ8amj9xP0M160J9yNsExkkyKDgG5fD_aAq3bYptlhIGJ3mio-78TRVRLkJbofn7ns5ICGUSx-Mwyp4AQDyCHRTpBvmGCZPZKh8FuQ2e0MiFH0M3fOTFRN5IsglMGPowSwsDbdQe/s640/20190702-P7020015.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0NSy_DmdiR29g4mKEeMZwj4es8P6vteAoq8Yka-YlIeFvl6ua7kxj42WkE256LssQqjrSR2GDJuwbva8NDiuBv5fCgaLc33UGs16Ojn0-FvaGWlxtwldyj8hIVUntGTDfx20tLtvaPuH/s1600/20190702-P7020018.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0NSy_DmdiR29g4mKEeMZwj4es8P6vteAoq8Yka-YlIeFvl6ua7kxj42WkE256LssQqjrSR2GDJuwbva8NDiuBv5fCgaLc33UGs16Ojn0-FvaGWlxtwldyj8hIVUntGTDfx20tLtvaPuH/s640/20190702-P7020018.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Livadi deco</td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">Out to the back roads and a visit to the local potter, Roussos, whose father and grandfather were both potters on Kythera. Immaculate garden of orange trees, huge bushes of basil and thyme, a lovely display and some tourist sized pieces to take home, of course.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">On to the little church-museum with some
lovely frescoes, and to the Katouni bridge of 1826, built during the ‘British
period’. A graceful construction, with overflow holes, through which you can
peek at more olive groves, crumbling Minoan stone, limestony hillside, azure
skies…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihheRl9rXVurCjN6Y3h1jV6zh8h_ORxEj-lDuLdorK4N05zAbHQ9tLOJ_clYe5OjfkT48giFSF5gQBC-QTsrl9YYsmO1Kpf0C99sJEKkk1mm0YciskomXNREy89wCE2QCtSxDXgQNS7hAb/s1600/20190702-P7020026.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihheRl9rXVurCjN6Y3h1jV6zh8h_ORxEj-lDuLdorK4N05zAbHQ9tLOJ_clYe5OjfkT48giFSF5gQBC-QTsrl9YYsmO1Kpf0C99sJEKkk1mm0YciskomXNREy89wCE2QCtSxDXgQNS7hAb/s640/20190702-P7020026.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Then onwards through Kalamos to Kapsali and Chora or
Kythira, the capital. Breathstopping views approaching these two towns – of the
twin bays of Kapsali (likened to the shape of the breasts of Aphrodite) and the
castle top view of Hora.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVSeBTEUDuzNh2au2hBzUtCGOThTOvYmWppuLem0ioa9HMFL-Frn4t8Mux3JuvsTjAQddvV_Ag6twCSJ0LG1M7m2R9h8KHvbE5hIo3wuqGj9Ci2w8Jc3QGE0cx87iv8BJFylIaNiBJ9GT/s1600/20190702-P7020032.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVSeBTEUDuzNh2au2hBzUtCGOThTOvYmWppuLem0ioa9HMFL-Frn4t8Mux3JuvsTjAQddvV_Ag6twCSJ0LG1M7m2R9h8KHvbE5hIo3wuqGj9Ci2w8Jc3QGE0cx87iv8BJFylIaNiBJ9GT/s640/20190702-P7020032.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hora (Kythera)</td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We stopped at an (apparently) uninhabited clifftop mansion and sneakily took photos from the top of their
stone wall. </span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">A swim stop at Kapsali at the non beach lounge end (cute little change huts) and then the agonising choice of which taverna? We wanted local fish, the best position, a true taverna experience – not demanding at all! In the end we got everything on the list - calamari, Greek salad, bread, olive oil, views...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5lX3bajowfEhZXbtvRsmixrqIAscmqKe-bTXse-aZJrTQtbuzTjszbYKSoR6aDtHQLT0Ta-D4MazoD_RYz2E2h9i0rLIO9G4z5rQZ0U6R_dQKQR8gSWjQm7JargsGHX4ErxXSGK6Og3_/s1600/20190702-P7020039.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5lX3bajowfEhZXbtvRsmixrqIAscmqKe-bTXse-aZJrTQtbuzTjszbYKSoR6aDtHQLT0Ta-D4MazoD_RYz2E2h9i0rLIO9G4z5rQZ0U6R_dQKQR8gSWjQm7JargsGHX4ErxXSGK6Og3_/s640/20190702-P7020039.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kapsali</td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We had read that Hora is active in the mornings until about 2 o’clock,
after which everyone goes for their siesta or the Kytherian equivalent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6zpXfUZf7trvFt-EzsnaBomBkMQNXKFGWnOEyFX1jakT3TxJAytGALndf3JvQgsx2Z02BMZCYRBLoNWCh-orfVVIpVhRGkPfDNsAwfagGwzfvM3hLOe_ost-iDBvgiapmS_sEYXXcyoo/s1600/20190702-P7020060.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6zpXfUZf7trvFt-EzsnaBomBkMQNXKFGWnOEyFX1jakT3TxJAytGALndf3JvQgsx2Z02BMZCYRBLoNWCh-orfVVIpVhRGkPfDNsAwfagGwzfvM3hLOe_ost-iDBvgiapmS_sEYXXcyoo/s320/20190702-P7020060.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We
wandered in silence through tiny medieval streets and around houses in varying
states of repair - some smartly renovated, others left to crumble.
Everywhere, bright crimson bougainville crept over the whitewashed walls – I
guess, typical Greek island scenery. We found ourselves at a hip café, <i>Fossa </i>– not a
kathenion – a trendy café with two terraces, the lower of which supplied a view
across a valley, stamped with slender cypress pines, olives and orange trees,
the ruins of a Byzantine church, and foregrounded with two copper church bells.
You could see both bays of Kapsali peeping through curves of limestone
rockface, the little rocky islet also shimmering in the distance. </span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluJSLoWVI_6aAlLnPS9bYcM33XG8D_WGF7nWn2zKjI2irFgQjGzOrDUS4eujZdbsQnFesh4afwteQJH_oW8Badq59JYIYGOR653XjRHRqcNliafHRX2Ynjsx1sFH3viHY_yDAq_QqhBko/s1600/IMG_20190702_153055.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluJSLoWVI_6aAlLnPS9bYcM33XG8D_WGF7nWn2zKjI2irFgQjGzOrDUS4eujZdbsQnFesh4afwteQJH_oW8Badq59JYIYGOR653XjRHRqcNliafHRX2Ynjsx1sFH3viHY_yDAq_QqhBko/s320/IMG_20190702_153055.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">And a flat
white and a honey and </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">thyme infused home-made lemonade with that!</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">By the time we’d finished our coffees and conversed with the owner - (pleasantly surprised I think that we were from Adelaide and not Sydney or Brisbane, and who obligingly gave us his best traveller’s tips and took a top photo of us) - some of the little shops were starting to open. We trailed back up to the top of the town, but found the archaeological museum disappointingly closed, and decided we’d better call it a day. I would like to return to Hora, we didn’t get to see the castle with views across to Crete and Antikythera, talk with the locals, wander a little longer through those interesting little streets.</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: justify;"> </span></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">There was
still the choice of taverna for the evening meal to work out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We took up Albert’s tip of <i>Kokkino Spaleto</i> - a <i>mezzo
dopolio</i> – midway I think between a taverna and a <i>kathenion,</i> and only
had to drive ten minutes to the neighbouring town of Friligianika. Gorgeous
little kitchen spilling its tables onto the church square and the promise of
very local home cooked food. We were not disappointed – a wonderful fava bean
dip with capers and <i>kaltsounia</i>, little pies made with spinach and local
greens, Andrew had local Kytherian pork sausages and salad. For the first time
since we’d arrived a cool wind had whipped up and it was a little fresh outside.
We moved inside to an equally atmospheric space with historic photos of
the town’s women in national dress adorning the walls as well as a framed
example of the crimson <i>spaleto</i> (jacket) itself. An Italian couple from Bologna had
also decided it was a little fresh and very quickly we got chatting - this was
their fifth visit to the island and they loved it best of all the Greek
islands they had visited, for its unspoilt appeal. It was like joining in on a
dinner party with kindred spirits and I think the waiting staff wondered if we were
ever going to leave…not that they were at all pushy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqB9ib5ziq6ep-XM604VsGXR2B75-ual7fwsY3dfZ4oTcVPxehscVxP98-LENUdk0wE90TE_i4AuzMsFSPCZY0hqSUxF6TLmn4LJbML8j6KedVRpfgCNV_vB0DaOl1DiYRmxFFwBoWT58I/s1600/20190702-P7020070.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqB9ib5ziq6ep-XM604VsGXR2B75-ual7fwsY3dfZ4oTcVPxehscVxP98-LENUdk0wE90TE_i4AuzMsFSPCZY0hqSUxF6TLmn4LJbML8j6KedVRpfgCNV_vB0DaOl1DiYRmxFFwBoWT58I/s640/20190702-P7020070.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Wednesday – sadly we had to check out of Xenonas – they were
booked solid and we were lucky to get the three days we did – so a quick trip
up north (getting lost again, but you can never really get completely lost – you
just take longer to get to your destination) to the famous bakery,
<i>Karava</i>, that supplies the special Kytherian <i>paximadia</i> rusks across the
country and as we found out, soon also Australia. </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We were snooping through the
back door at the baking in progress and Yiannis spotted us - we obviously
looked curious, so he took us on a spontaneous tour. The sprightly octogenarian
told us how they had built the bakery from scratch in the space of an old
olive press - the presses were still on display in the main shop.</span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Yiannis had gone to Australia as part of the mass migration after the war but had always said when his youngest child turned seven he would return or they would never know their roots. As it was his son <i>was</i> now running the bakery and 82 year old Yiannis </span>was the man on the floor. </div></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We had already bought </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2HlMJfNCKjLbciBxFks_cjW8tEYSGk6Aq6Dqrl9wM2XpFkOm6Fr3LgXNz003YuSYnNTU8VpGP1ImW9rrh8LTWO_3nnvS19AamJTg2yu8kk6PPj8H5EdQ3APW3b6Ot0DAADXGFzeCda58/s1600/20190703-P7030085.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2HlMJfNCKjLbciBxFks_cjW8tEYSGk6Aq6Dqrl9wM2XpFkOm6Fr3LgXNz003YuSYnNTU8VpGP1ImW9rrh8LTWO_3nnvS19AamJTg2yu8kk6PPj8H5EdQ3APW3b6Ot0DAADXGFzeCda58/s400/20190703-P7030085.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">copious pastry supplies from the Livada bakery, </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">so sadly couldn’t indulge too greatly, but at a </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">minimum had to sample the spinach pies and the </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Kythirian rusks with sesame and cheese that we </span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">had seen in the oven. We left contact details with </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Yiannis' son, for Gaganis brothers in Adelaide </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">should they want to expand into South Australia! </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Hopefully so!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXX2aFnTqYXz-xMs0rju4jxL2O4t-M1Q6TkPpLNNJobyGhCx9EWGSRQzsjLs1PyAtJaauSopQr5L1Na8Q-OAwGdkws-xl9rMtcm_A67JYipydA38fxRXjyj-j6LAtlwnnoLB97qhGo3K4W/s1600/OI000213.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXX2aFnTqYXz-xMs0rju4jxL2O4t-M1Q6TkPpLNNJobyGhCx9EWGSRQzsjLs1PyAtJaauSopQr5L1Na8Q-OAwGdkws-xl9rMtcm_A67JYipydA38fxRXjyj-j6LAtlwnnoLB97qhGo3K4W/s640/OI000213.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The north of the island is much greener than the south – historical battles raged </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">between invaders and refugees from the Ionian and Cretan islands </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">over entitlements to the more fertile region, creating ‘in’ and ‘out’ parts of the island which apparently still
exist today (the Brisbane ex-pats told us about this – they were from the
‘out’ part). We drove north to the springs, past
orchards of peach, pear and orange. We weren’t sure we’d ever get back up again if we
drove to the bottom of the steep and curvy road leading down to the springs, so we parked up the top and set off on foot, past an incredible abandoned medieval hillside town.</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_z_XG8ZB9FrdvN_ojIOrvd4BG5NLTMzewYCPLTfu47GNWU7CEMgtCH3dWxzkhkk_dfbfxKLOneBYhj00wphCMPuuUatqvqms3w7hnaoUcYBX46XtCiLcH59WSVQ9-37WjMqjbK9wvyXq/s1600/OI000221.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_z_XG8ZB9FrdvN_ojIOrvd4BG5NLTMzewYCPLTfu47GNWU7CEMgtCH3dWxzkhkk_dfbfxKLOneBYhj00wphCMPuuUatqvqms3w7hnaoUcYBX46XtCiLcH59WSVQ9-37WjMqjbK9wvyXq/s640/OI000221.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karavas</td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The walk to the spring was cool and shady, with the proverbial babbling of the brook and
the shrill cacophony of cicadas a constant. Of course, there was a taverna at the
bottom, even if not yet with large clientele – we were just a little ahead of the
‘season’. Such a peaceful spot to partake of the locally made lemonade. We walked further downwards to
another spring, this one a little more obvious at the end.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpFOru04zVvt8ILX3LvnPu8uBNnBr_tG1V9tKrAGa53-Zm09Ev8MNwrvXNjbvUGg_vqKDrxWMME3t1Xia-7SQIOCwriR38gvGa8Z29atnLrkGhRFnbRjINiieGgBP2yN_v34pVFhTuwUM/s1600/20190703-P7030096.JPG" style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpFOru04zVvt8ILX3LvnPu8uBNnBr_tG1V9tKrAGa53-Zm09Ev8MNwrvXNjbvUGg_vqKDrxWMME3t1Xia-7SQIOCwriR38gvGa8Z29atnLrkGhRFnbRjINiieGgBP2yN_v34pVFhTuwUM/s640/20190703-P7030096.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Back to check out of Xenonas - sigh - and to head on through Mitata –
the oldest settlement in Kythera and once a place of windmills – one is now restored
and is the icon for a retreat in this gorgeous countryside, with its lush
groves, cypress pines and green terraces reminiscent of Tuscany and (people say)
Sardinia. A far cry from the bare slopes around Diakofti where we first
arrived. Picnic was on the agenda today, and we found the perfect spot, down
below the Mitata springs, on a shady patch of grass under two pine trees and
looking towards the impressive ravine, the omnipresent byzantine church and a
hilltop village to our left. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We had sought directions in the village prior, me conscientiously but unnecessarily flipping through the vocabulary A-Z of my Greek-English phrase
book to find the word for ‘spring’. A puzzled local indicated to wait for the
guy who’d been in Australia - who
announced in yet another broad Queensland accent that we just had to go on down along the
road ‘about a k’. While we were picknicking he and his mate whizzed past us in
their car and stopped to check we weren’t lost – the spring was above us! Funny
to hear that accent in the middle of nowhere, it seemed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We found our way eventually to the pretty little port of Avlemonas,
down a steepish ravine road - windy and would-be treacherous, except that people </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">generally</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">drive cautiously, knowing they may encounter a car coming in the
opposite direction on the one lane road. There are rules about who gives way
- definitely the car coming uphill has priority.</span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Avlemonas is picturesque - a little historic harbour lining
a perfect, clear rock pool with platforms and ladders for easy access. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_GcGLn0JV3_e_gT8IbxDqorkRtxQww38-9i7dbZY-fNyBOeMxD5ZipyqnxfTIw-vc-BJM4Apmev8Y60dSOce-XYpEiC6H1HxabNHBvTVobClIH-y2kAVXYpi3OO3-VSIMHlUFdB_X2kR/s1600/20190703-P7030107.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_GcGLn0JV3_e_gT8IbxDqorkRtxQww38-9i7dbZY-fNyBOeMxD5ZipyqnxfTIw-vc-BJM4Apmev8Y60dSOce-XYpEiC6H1HxabNHBvTVobClIH-y2kAVXYpi3OO3-VSIMHlUFdB_X2kR/s640/20190703-P7030107.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avlemonas</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmXEyL-lpyhJgDMwwvUHu0UEvusA0wRHZpjQtEoniPF1Sp5Qr1vg6-ruAnRJjW1tdC4ZmBjt1-568q7KY3dZzZbEq_jRu4YjpDlFuXItwGerznjmtNPDwRNK5OcxstkD7KjSmB41v9NzN/s1600/WP_20190704_02_05_35_Pro.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmXEyL-lpyhJgDMwwvUHu0UEvusA0wRHZpjQtEoniPF1Sp5Qr1vg6-ruAnRJjW1tdC4ZmBjt1-568q7KY3dZzZbEq_jRu4YjpDlFuXItwGerznjmtNPDwRNK5OcxstkD7KjSmB41v9NzN/s320/WP_20190704_02_05_35_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">At first
glance perhaps a bit post-card touristy, until you realise that there are plenty of
locals who actually live here, and the tourists tend to be large bands of
Australian youth – not travelling in the same way as they do in Bali or
Thailand – being the offspring of Kytherian Australians who want their kids
to know the family origins. So while the Australian accents are again ever-present, they
tend to emanate from family groups – three generations and all the
boyfriends/girlfriends etc. Still – they were a bit too ‘Aussie’ for what we
wanted – also Andrew’s eye was smarting from all the driving and maybe a bit of
grit or grass, so we decided, after a rest, to return to Livadi and find the
pharmacy - there are three on the island and open
til 10pm. The very helpful pharmacist gave him exactly what was required to fix
it, so we decided to stay on, pick over the Wednesday Livadi street market (though
sadly couldn’t buy many more glass-bottled olive oil, tsipoura or other treats). We ate at a
local taverna, with a
quiet, no pretences interior, lace curtains and a view to the village on the
ridge. It had a terrazzo floor in two colours, the pink an extension of the green - as yet another Philip, the <i>estatoria </i>proprietor, explained: the first was laid by
his father in 1965 and the second was added by Philip in 1989 when he too
returned </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">from Australia </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">after his father died, to take part in rebuilding the island’s economy.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqTfOhQLBSvgBFhhIgMQZhXDSaB05DbAF2yVbn8z-8gSRLebA0sidioxy9coCG2v0eJq0HAqxma5IhZLx3YUXZprlcqqqlszzKtiO_rL1b1etbCvukX-S8czxzZGUjAcpXiL2hAjYQbYC/s1600/20190703-P7030110.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqTfOhQLBSvgBFhhIgMQZhXDSaB05DbAF2yVbn8z-8gSRLebA0sidioxy9coCG2v0eJq0HAqxma5IhZLx3YUXZprlcqqqlszzKtiO_rL1b1etbCvukX-S8czxzZGUjAcpXiL2hAjYQbYC/s640/20190703-P7030110.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Day four was going to be our ‘rest’ day, so we bathed early
in Avlemonas in the gorgeous little rock pool and returned to our apartment for
breakfast of omelette and tomatoes (with basil filched from the huge bushes
growing everywhere – nobody would really mind!), some of that indescribably creamy
goats milk yoghurt, fresh peaches and honey, we found the orange juicer as well.
It was going to be hot anyway – so a rest day was needed – aircon and doing
what the locals do until it is nice enough to venture out again. This time to
Kaladi beach which I’d seen in the brochures. We were not disappointed – the
water so clear and rippling turquoise, sapphire and lapis lazuli –
reflections of gold and cream against the rock. We floated – high salt content so
you can just float – and tried to put off the thought that sadly we would be on a plane home the
next day (it turned out we </span><i style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">waited</i><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> on a plane for an hour next day…then missed our connections home...but
that’s another story).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3TT3TXGyLvqQdAgc4ulOXSOm0lgEgjT4C0xJPYx66Cr5J0szxk9QOMFHa6CObIv9Q_CFEfeKsByonL_oEKaMnIrt5hMVqFsBNDzrBWmH-o2SO7WwoB-wez0fU_zJM8ewbr5PYjqN1BzYn/s1600/20190704-P7040131.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3TT3TXGyLvqQdAgc4ulOXSOm0lgEgjT4C0xJPYx66Cr5J0szxk9QOMFHa6CObIv9Q_CFEfeKsByonL_oEKaMnIrt5hMVqFsBNDzrBWmH-o2SO7WwoB-wez0fU_zJM8ewbr5PYjqN1BzYn/s640/20190704-P7040131.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We also managed to find the ‘baths of Aphrodite’, so
called as the goddess legendarily took her bath there, and the perfect taverna,
<i>Skandia,</i> for our last night. This one established in 1975, set under the
vines, the ubiquitous cat stretching out to join us – a meal of grilled
cuttlefish, grilled vegetables and meatballs in red sauce - not an Australian accent within cooee. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Back to Avlemonas for a late night coffee overlooking the
warm lights reflected in the pool – so romantic!</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zMp-trLzxVqU0cd1YqkPo_VSjxZsJmcJ9WfG1L2ltAJocDnhaU-7lH7Gkby5gNN9vC5HPT7iAow4Xb7jXQzYFshu8wR9mq-_ahDGsxU7cTbJ0qo_kPFwu3x3gxUkWlBqvMbCmE3H4n1C/s1600/20190704-P7040141-2.JPG" style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zMp-trLzxVqU0cd1YqkPo_VSjxZsJmcJ9WfG1L2ltAJocDnhaU-7lH7Gkby5gNN9vC5HPT7iAow4Xb7jXQzYFshu8wR9mq-_ahDGsxU7cTbJ0qo_kPFwu3x3gxUkWlBqvMbCmE3H4n1C/s640/20190704-P7040141-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avlemonas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">We had a last swim and early lunch of sardines and salad
before making our way to the airport to (eventually) farewell this little gem
of an island. We may have to return...</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The baths of Aphrodite...actually not so difficult to find if you ask a local</td></tr>
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Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-51903129540428552542019-04-28T21:11:00.000+09:302019-04-28T21:11:25.132+09:30My Short Story, 'The Skies will be Clear' published in Story Fire, Fellowship of Australian Writers, WA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2csfzijjx2Uj1wM5l4Z3Ns4d5Oh6bAC2akfwosJummdn80-j8RuouLlqMCOGR5aJXf0hCjYSkVPXf0-uJhcTHXYEto4tNkGY6F7YUUbOlTh7DNZRsnie6h8mu9fTdmTubFmNRRYVfZji/s1600/IMG_20190428_210456+%2528002%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2csfzijjx2Uj1wM5l4Z3Ns4d5Oh6bAC2akfwosJummdn80-j8RuouLlqMCOGR5aJXf0hCjYSkVPXf0-uJhcTHXYEto4tNkGY6F7YUUbOlTh7DNZRsnie6h8mu9fTdmTubFmNRRYVfZji/s320/IMG_20190428_210456+%2528002%2529.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-30208460274574675732018-07-09T00:01:00.000+09:302019-03-28T21:42:48.645+10:30Three Days with the Shepherds on Crete<br />
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I had to climb Mt Psiloritis, Crete’s highest mountain, and
that’s how this started. The mountain scramble is a key plot point in my
current novel (with the working title of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Follow
the Goat</i>. or <i>Saved by the Bell</i> :) The film pitch is: “Slopes, dope, love, goats: a slow romance at high speed
through Crete” (all open for comment :).<br />
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On a clear day from the summit of this sacred peak - thousands of pilgrims make the ascent each August - you can see all the furthest
points of Crete: north, south, east and west. In my novel my two reluctant
protagonists, on the run from the bad guys, chance upon a guide leading a
tourist up to the summit by moonlight - but then lose them and have to find
their way down, with help from the shepherds and, of course, a goat. If in
doubt in the mountains, watch what the goats do. They are really smart.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigo3-mN3u8zZb9TUoL_Ss4jxnA3zv2BShmdYohYxtcPkjmQh1yI550iq2OPIQ2eoa4Xw4NSHtFMYdfUC18jY9u-SssftCQDyerUZKedfidoqETsfSYsknisSZdu3THqtGk2tY1dUh4xFUS/s1600/OI000020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigo3-mN3u8zZb9TUoL_Ss4jxnA3zv2BShmdYohYxtcPkjmQh1yI550iq2OPIQ2eoa4Xw4NSHtFMYdfUC18jY9u-SssftCQDyerUZKedfidoqETsfSYsknisSZdu3THqtGk2tY1dUh4xFUS/s640/OI000020.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">Eleni from </span><a href="http://greentour.gr/" style="text-align: center;">Greentour</a><span style="text-align: center;">,
Crete, a local ecotourism operator, responded with the kind of warmth and
enthusiasm that I had come to expect from Cretans. I had been the recipient of wonderful generosity and hospitality in my 1980 travels as a young Australian backpacker.
I could have an overnight stay with the shepherds, she offered, to see how they
make those wonderful cheeses.</span></div>
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Cheese, olives, mountains, wild herbs, stone shepherd’s
huts, goats. This was the starting point. But just a fraction of what was to
come in three packed days of scrambling around the mountains and the verdant
Amari valley, with its chapels, springs and village fountains, orchards, oak forests and memorable
characters, some of whom are still living lives barely changed over the
centuries.</div>
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We drive up from Rethymno to meet Giorgis, the shepherd of
shepherds in this region, and a thoughtful, gracious representative for their
concerns. At Lochria we change vehicle and Giorgis takes us high, high up along
treacherous mountain paths that have been degraded by recent rains. ‘The
weather is very unstable,’ I am told. We see no one on the road, only goats and
sheep, but pass ancient <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mitata</i>, crumbling
remains of the igloo shaped huts that are still used to store cheeses and for
shelter. Some of the sheep, Giorgis tells us, belong to his brother – he seems
to recognise them. The vegetation is bare and stunted: rocks, stones, wind curved
olives and low lying clumps of prickle bush. Giorgis holds up a dried clump as
a bouquet and makes a joke that I understand despite my non-existent Greek.</div>
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We
see a grouse and, up in the skies, many gryphon vultures, who play an important
part in the eco-chain by cleaning up dead animal carcasses.<br />
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We arrive at a
simple shelter where Giorgis occupies himself immediately with the wood stove –
there is a slow cooked lamb to prepare for tonight, and it is quite chilly. We
look directly out to the bare ranges, though fog seeps through the gap, obscuring
the view 1700 metres below to the sea. The soft sound of bells rings clearly
through. We see the flock crawling across the grey, scratched face of the slope;
like white suds rolling towards a drain. Eleni has made cheese pies with mint,
white mushrooms with an ouzo flavoured batter and she is now assembling a green salad,
chopping red luscious tomatoes and offering around salty shrivelled olives that
she has prepared herself. We consider the weather. It is not likely that we will
be able to access Psiloritis from this southern side tomorrow. We will decide
in the morning.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Giorgis has to lure back some goats who have strayed, so we don
rain jackets and head out, passing by the springs where we fill up on thyme
scented mountain water. There is a <i>mantinada</i> at the spring - a rhyming couplet, very Cretan, engraved in stone. Eleni translates: <b><i>Cold water, gift of the god to old Psiloritis, the highest of peaks over all of Crete</i></b>. </div>
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We do a bit of goat clambering ourselves. Giorgis
sprinkles corn seeds to attract them back, explaining that if they find food in
this location, they will return. For a moment I wonder where he has disappeared
to around the craggy rockface – but he turns up, smiling, the lines of his face
and his grizzled grey beard perfectly blended into the landscape. He shows me a
piece of rock that has a kind of etched pattern – maybe a kind of faint fossil,
but it looks like a Japanese ink painting. He gives it to me – “for my office”.
We return to the shelter for a siesta and Eleni makes me a mountain tea (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dictamos) </i>with honey, enjoyed since Minoan
times and good for digestion and healing.</div>
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Back to dinner preparations; there are potato chips to be
cooked in olive oil and the lamb ribs to check. The feast is laid out and consumed
with gusto, accompanied by homemade wine. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We should pay a visit to
the neighbouring shepherds, Eleni suggests, and prepares some items to take to
them; coffee supplies, whisky (the Famous Grouse brand), and some other basics. On the way
Giorgis drives up an almost impassable track and stops to point out that the
Ideaaon Andron or Zeus’s cave (baby Zeus of mythical fame was supposed to have been raised
here) is over the other side. He knows the cave is another important setting
point for the novel – my two protagonists have to take refuge here. We retrace
our tracks to visit the shepherds – Kostas and Irini and their two
granddaughters, staying for the school holidays. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cjD_Ep2KJCtXDMgpMOAagQVW7-tveUy_4ncYAaW7R08-GGgY8dzg5GzxRkOrbV4jMu39IZL69kSjAojoH0ksDA8n1TfD3qV_mp-DyUbAUzD363kLYoa2ufgnUJiHOUq7UDIMalhAMJBl/s1600/P6210166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cjD_Ep2KJCtXDMgpMOAagQVW7-tveUy_4ncYAaW7R08-GGgY8dzg5GzxRkOrbV4jMu39IZL69kSjAojoH0ksDA8n1TfD3qV_mp-DyUbAUzD363kLYoa2ufgnUJiHOUq7UDIMalhAMJBl/s320/P6210166.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Outside their shelter the
flock of sheep wait patiently, down from the mountains and penned so Kostas can
keep an eye on them – a little wary of ‘rustling’ in these parts. We enter the dwelling, having to stoop low under the door frame. Inside there are five
people and two fires, one of which heats a huge cauldron of milk that is
becoming cheese – Irini stops stirring to greet us and to prepare cubes of
graviera and other cheese varieties of varying coulours and consistencies, as
well as some sesame coated sweet treats.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Kostas has one of the longest
beards I have seen and ruddy smooth cheeks. He is most pleased to see Giorgis,
as he has many matters to discuss. The two girls squeal with delight at seeing
Eleni and regard me with curiosity – I have my camera which gives me something
to do while everyone sinks into excited chatter. Kostas is concerned about the
roads, about their cheese production, about the chapel they want to build on
the rise. Another young man sits to the side, warming his beans on the fire. He
speaks to me in English and I discover he is from Afghanistan, but escaped when
he was thirteen. He spent time in England then came to
Greece, to Crete.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8sGC9neyqzkvZCmk88XA3J39qIF-FjQnvSX6tnD0HDkDlcPGMvNFQp9nYDygMc1zNaVEYIrjJGarz7V8a1K7XBR-MhZZZoHRarOSxyKLOIYjamae3bkSyOsVNHffI7Yukf89VwDHz0Cm/s1600/OI000012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8sGC9neyqzkvZCmk88XA3J39qIF-FjQnvSX6tnD0HDkDlcPGMvNFQp9nYDygMc1zNaVEYIrjJGarz7V8a1K7XBR-MhZZZoHRarOSxyKLOIYjamae3bkSyOsVNHffI7Yukf89VwDHz0Cm/s320/OI000012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As is the custom, we are offered <i>raki</i> and Kostas and Giorgis
settle into the whisky. Eleni asks Irini if she can show me the cheese store
in the mitata, and takes the century old key. With the girls we have to crawl
through a narrow entrance. Once inside we behold a space accommodating at least
a hundred (at a guess) rounds of cheese, each bearing the markings of the
sieves that they have set in. Some are moulded; some fresher and younger. Eleni
is helping Irini’s community in the steps required to be able to sell the
cheese commercially.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHwyfIaQUT5ajT-4nLfYvDHAnP5ij_Z7Awb7TAu3RUZqiMh1TnBGiULMr2f7k5MmyknnmMez78uoDOJb7hQo0kES4bkLG_ey3l6D-L5IHmnbd-ZyVLLj1rPmyI9yq4czmIVvcaarkxDmF/s1600/P6210164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHwyfIaQUT5ajT-4nLfYvDHAnP5ij_Z7Awb7TAu3RUZqiMh1TnBGiULMr2f7k5MmyknnmMez78uoDOJb7hQo0kES4bkLG_ey3l6D-L5IHmnbd-ZyVLLj1rPmyI9yq4czmIVvcaarkxDmF/s320/P6210164.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Back to the main dwelling and Kostas is in full flight
discussion with Giorgis; it enables me to take some more photos. On the walls
there are holy icons and high on the shelves are old cheese sieves made
from bamboo. Irini does stone engravings and paintings, she shows us some of her
creations that will decorate the chapel. It is time to return – we travel by
clear moonlight over the rough ground. A long day and possibly a mountain climb
tomorrow, though Giorgis is doubtful. Full of contemplation of the mystery of
another world, centuries away from me, I sleep deeply.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_AtldqNqqdxKZApCm5aL0yZ99gBv_jlpFEf8chkGhhOvFe7hDh3hhiTicPbs8sQV96rR-xPjwAEIQp1QYqISdEvbgOcb77srLGM8nh9BDUHDLAWgkNBMxMBbdWTPRbHTk65aXin7PcbC/s1600/WP_20180620_20_31_27_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_AtldqNqqdxKZApCm5aL0yZ99gBv_jlpFEf8chkGhhOvFe7hDh3hhiTicPbs8sQV96rR-xPjwAEIQp1QYqISdEvbgOcb77srLGM8nh9BDUHDLAWgkNBMxMBbdWTPRbHTk65aXin7PcbC/s640/WP_20180620_20_31_27_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fog appears to have lifted in the morning and we can see
all the way down through the many blues of the sky and sea to Agia Galini
below. But the weather will worsen, Giorgios advises, so better not to take
the risk. Change of plan – we will descend, with the possibility of accessing
the mountain from the Northern side tomorrow - and visit other spots relevant
to my novel. We farewell Giorgios, but only for the day – Eleni had been
enquiring as to the possibility of taking me to a Cretan wedding. Incredibly
Giorgios knows of one happening that very night (unusual for a Thursday) in a
village in the Amari Valley. But is it a problem that a stranger will be
attending? With over 1,000 guests expected, I will hardly be noticed, Giorgis
explains. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Agia Galini is appropriately tacky for the purposes of my
novel. It is fun discussing plausibilities with Eleni. Where does my
protagonist meet Captain George and his goat? is there really a bus that goes
to Heraklion? What size are the boats in the harbour? We continue on; Eleni has
prepared a picnic lunch that we enjoy in a grove of 2,000 year old olives, with the view of Psiloritis ever before us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pDky-KvEgxk1QmRO3UZE2kTGduzDSz9D1HwsXN-K_M9FP2RtgSdT5iMOGdU-3d1eDyvQGlJ1QNbAKZnWTjo-OdJrFj031c7u02Jw_gh6qcXnEeayuqRFkbt47tMpTKaYKG5PGEhgMzwD/s1600/P6210196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pDky-KvEgxk1QmRO3UZE2kTGduzDSz9D1HwsXN-K_M9FP2RtgSdT5iMOGdU-3d1eDyvQGlJ1QNbAKZnWTjo-OdJrFj031c7u02Jw_gh6qcXnEeayuqRFkbt47tMpTKaYKG5PGEhgMzwD/s640/P6210196.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONJjzAeIH9fhMIocU0Yj672VxcUpDcL6FR_AbbsyTjDhJU2dwQRzkxrhiVUilxy5WQKyckByDfBDuSj6V0iYcU6ynDApLjs1-VxbM7W5J6Z49BN_kWdRdALColIGJFHrtA6zRyDRT_pfG/s1600/OI000029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONJjzAeIH9fhMIocU0Yj672VxcUpDcL6FR_AbbsyTjDhJU2dwQRzkxrhiVUilxy5WQKyckByDfBDuSj6V0iYcU6ynDApLjs1-VxbM7W5J6Z49BN_kWdRdALColIGJFHrtA6zRyDRT_pfG/s640/OI000029.jpg" width="640" /></a>Then, a stopover at a lovely mountain
resort in Gerakari, a now peaceful village in the Amari Valley, but in 1941 razed
to the ground by the Nazis in retaliation for the Cretan participation in the
resistance and the famous kidnapping of General Kreipe. Trying to put this atrocity aside, I anticipate a
relaxing bathe in the pool, a hot shower and a rest before the big event of the
evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We meet Giorgios half way and travel on together. We make a
stop to film some goats clanking and duelling and generally raising havoc. In
the bride's village, crammed with cars, I stop to pick up a bullet shell on the road.
Ah – Eleni tells me. When the bride leaves for the church they fire in the air.
She seems concerned – are you afraid of that? I tell her as long as I can take
cover (!) the experience will probably find its way into the novel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I peek into the church – so tiny and certainly not capable
of holding the quantity of invited guests. Half of them will go straight to the
reception, Eleni explains, so there will be two lines of greeting and two opportunities
to bestow the traditional gift of money. I calculate 1,000 guests at approximately
50 Euro a head. Enough for a small deposit on a house?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NkqnPl0MkVggfINjc0t5oFP87Nt5R3kOM4iMTMYUB196Vkcofepa4UVHf24joOdUkuypSNMyjajMxKSYLjkx2wPkYZdjajKUWK80TAIZMg8PKx8vcr_1wpwlh5irFaoeigosPEUajnT1/s1600/WP_20180621_20_07_08_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NkqnPl0MkVggfINjc0t5oFP87Nt5R3kOM4iMTMYUB196Vkcofepa4UVHf24joOdUkuypSNMyjajMxKSYLjkx2wPkYZdjajKUWK80TAIZMg8PKx8vcr_1wpwlh5irFaoeigosPEUajnT1/s320/WP_20180621_20_07_08_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is a perfect evening. Soft summer light settles on the
ancient stonework. Most people sit chatting in the courtyard outside the
church. Eleni is pleased to encounter an old school friend. Sure enough, at a
given moment I am startled by a loud volley of gunfire - a group of men, in their black shirts and Cretan headscarves, take turns to show off
with rains of fire. There is actually a billowing of orange flame that
accompanies some of the shots.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later I ask Giorgis what sort of guns. <i>Kalashnikovs</i>, he says
without hesitation, and a <i>Luger, a Thomson, a Beretta, a Zastava and a Browning,
a Smith Wilson</i> - there are a lot of guns. It is not strictly legal, Eleni
explains – but what police officer is going to confront a band of Cretan men
fired up - literally speaking – at a local wedding?<o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqbMcqcAbfZR8vD0oDK9kO4-rH9xUr4q_EmFvUvK8RF9XMhupwvBoX2zyM5VOMh73wUssXxxsW4zD-i095neTFMwsMNRuv8EO8ExYKzkM2TrpOjqr2JUHYae9C90fk5IY1R_YVmhGPvlk/s1600/WP_20180621_20_45_40_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqbMcqcAbfZR8vD0oDK9kO4-rH9xUr4q_EmFvUvK8RF9XMhupwvBoX2zyM5VOMh73wUssXxxsW4zD-i095neTFMwsMNRuv8EO8ExYKzkM2TrpOjqr2JUHYae9C90fk5IY1R_YVmhGPvlk/s320/WP_20180621_20_45_40_Pro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was told 1,000 guests but I am still astonished to enter
the outside area of the taverna honoured with the task of feeding such a crowd.
There must be at least fifty long tables of twenty places set. We take a seat
opposite some friends of Giorgis, though Giorgios hardly has time to settle to
his meal as he greets just about everyone who walks in. The main course is lamb, tender, slow
cooked in lemon and accompanied by a delicious risotto made from the
juices. The waiters bring bowls and meat out on huge trays. Salad to
follow. Then the music starts up – a semi circle of musicians with traditional Greek
instruments – the lyra, the bouzouki and more. The bride greets them all and
garlands them with a Cretan scarf. I get up to try to film it - then find my way back to my seat, dizzy with
the excitement of it all. One of Giorgis’s friends throws a scarf around my
neck – welcome to the country!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRVKTSSqSW8ndJFLQ0RI9Ebz5uyf9ICJ7XKFy7lePI3l5GarlY5jajr9IGkfYW4eYloSSUz97fK-UKZwCs29BsZCBSG5VYg4EXYuXxThyphenhyphenesOg9hSExySaT3ykDEyjnm4xJ9m83iMDi1yt/s1600/WP_20180621_21_08_31_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRVKTSSqSW8ndJFLQ0RI9Ebz5uyf9ICJ7XKFy7lePI3l5GarlY5jajr9IGkfYW4eYloSSUz97fK-UKZwCs29BsZCBSG5VYg4EXYuXxThyphenhyphenesOg9hSExySaT3ykDEyjnm4xJ9m83iMDi1yt/s400/WP_20180621_21_08_31_Pro.jpg" width="400" /></a>A shame we cannot stay until the wee hours – for it looks
like it will be possible to climb the mountain tomorrow, and I need to claim at
least 7 hours sleep. On the drive home we are all in good spirits – it has been
a wonderful and unique experience. I ask Giorgis, through Eleni, if he knows of
a taverna owner with rent rooms on the southern side of the mountain, someone who
might be that character in my novel, who might offer safe haven to my two protagonists
as they stumble down the mountain. He thinks for a minute. He doesn’t
know of any tavernas in the small towns on the lower slopes. Wait a moment, he says. ‘That
person is me!’ It’s true, Eleni says. Giorgis is always being called out to
rescue lost and stray hikers, sometimes even in darkness. More often than not, they
end up at his place, as there is nowhere else to stay! I tell Giorgis he has
earnt a minor part in my novel.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The talk turns to goats again and I tell them of the play I
will see on my return – the Edwin Albee play, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Goat or Who is Sylvia – </i>about a man who falls in love with a
goat - and there is much laughter. I am warmed by the thought that we share the
same humour, if not culture and language. 12.30 in the morning and I fall,
exhausted, to sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Breakfast at the hotel is a smorgasborg of Cretan specialities
from the region - sour cherry cordial, Cretan omelette, cheese and spinach
pies, honey and yoghurt, fresh eggs. Unfortunately, I can’t fit it all in.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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I am over-ready with boots, daypack, walking sticks, jacket,
chocolate. We meet young Giorgios at Arkadi – the monastery I have visited
before, gracious in its peaceful setting today but scene of a tragic sacrifice
in 1866 when Cretan civilians were unwilling to yield to their Turkish
oppressors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Young Giorgios is an excellent guide, knowledgeable and
friendly, full of attention to the smallest detail, and especially to my comfort as a
woman twice his age about to make the ascent up to 2435 metres. Like Eleni and
Giorgios senior he is similarly open minded and generous of spirit. We drive to
the northern side of the mountain to access the path via the high mountain
towns of Livadia, Zoniana and Anogia. The tough men of this so called ‘devil’s
triangle’ have a reputation of holding out against the law and of skirmishing
with the authorities trying to police the illicit cultivation of marijuana in
the secluded areas. All of this is critical scene setting and plot set up
for my novel, to which Giorgios contributes with his close knowledge of the
region. There is plenty to discuss.<br />
We pass a female grouse and
ten little chicks on the road, scurrying up the hill, too fast for a photo. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stop at a stone refuge, still being constructed, and ask
the labourers to take a photo of us as we set off. Giorgios sets a steady, slow
pace before me. The hike is, of course, hard going but the temperature is
perfect – no wind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within ten minutes of starting. we stop to view a golden eagle, Giorgios thinks, wheeling
majestically over the slopes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwdBQbrFgECyRVXqz4AZIWkexLGE6s_b3MxOzMmywiQE3jnI0MJj7TNwXaPyaMvC7wDNUAyjGev0UO4ZA212FisDW4u7ZxlOEsrmX_DU-j8vVI5S6zxug1yQNwBxtu2GRV0L-8zEr0hWf/s1600/P6220214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwdBQbrFgECyRVXqz4AZIWkexLGE6s_b3MxOzMmywiQE3jnI0MJj7TNwXaPyaMvC7wDNUAyjGev0UO4ZA212FisDW4u7ZxlOEsrmX_DU-j8vVI5S6zxug1yQNwBxtu2GRV0L-8zEr0hWf/s640/P6220214.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Giorgios finds
and explains the fauna – little hardy alpine flowers, buttercups and violets
and tiny things growing in cracks.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBEKZbk3VOs9hRFY5LfLuvj4AOVZXbPKa4lmBaC5rIr8ogfc3_kd5iCff0bb9QpuQ3hRvo7zglnDvEnts54qhCv-HkT8Cwt6CI37k9TwnDgjlvrzzTDyWkvn9nj8N4sqzitq0PKDOMwG8/s1600/P6220226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBEKZbk3VOs9hRFY5LfLuvj4AOVZXbPKa4lmBaC5rIr8ogfc3_kd5iCff0bb9QpuQ3hRvo7zglnDvEnts54qhCv-HkT8Cwt6CI37k9TwnDgjlvrzzTDyWkvn9nj8N4sqzitq0PKDOMwG8/s320/P6220226.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It is steep – of course it is steep! Three
hours up. 600 metres to the saddle and then a more graduated slope (at least,
Giorgios promises) to the summit – if we make it before the clouds roll in.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgYAQpxhxHdVQPqE9MRZa1txW-Q808Z5GQPRtfq9VtRmYLu1QurjPXWCtflPp2DgprgOixgmg9YP0FIyaLUJYIxitXE32DIZci1o4MMMJV0urMU-CR0LjVp-jExxVZItFwC_X4KDKTdC5/s1600/P6220219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgYAQpxhxHdVQPqE9MRZa1txW-Q808Z5GQPRtfq9VtRmYLu1QurjPXWCtflPp2DgprgOixgmg9YP0FIyaLUJYIxitXE32DIZci1o4MMMJV0urMU-CR0LjVp-jExxVZItFwC_X4KDKTdC5/s320/P6220219.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p>And we do, almost, make it to the top but Giorgios is wary of being
caught in the billow of fog that is on its way, so we take our photos
with the little chapel of Timios Stavros in the background – another
half an hour across, but with no possibility of seeing the four corners
of Crete today. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2F9d9bjyGYtMyUOaAkhpHeA9TLdcC6strGuXNzLpd8cGn2oAfySmFUtZNn_lyy4a8P5parh4JFbNJtDYw4t6Q_vhjR3e6y_l_aaAy1OR36-0A2QXUGYNugk5ZENKzv0YT25vR0abNRevl/s1600/OI000039-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2F9d9bjyGYtMyUOaAkhpHeA9TLdcC6strGuXNzLpd8cGn2oAfySmFUtZNn_lyy4a8P5parh4JFbNJtDYw4t6Q_vhjR3e6y_l_aaAy1OR36-0A2QXUGYNugk5ZENKzv0YT25vR0abNRevl/s320/OI000039-EFFECTS.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t mind, really –
the north eastern view is magnificent enough from where I stand – looking
towards Heraklion and all the way down to the Aegean. It would be nice, of
course to sit on that saddle and see the Libyan and the Aegean seas at the same
time – but I am satisfied to have made it this far.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKyF-xjFNk3wotOn3_FtbyCPwGk3xMC5E9ti0Dwz8491Hrnqo9SUQdRbwMCXM1NnN7R9f2TnTdTmfFHPMQkrFVQcfX3Q3mb-E2tbkwfy3gvzvPaAizq1ekMU3wynljjXyxmwsqGhOF6Qh/s1600/P6220223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKyF-xjFNk3wotOn3_FtbyCPwGk3xMC5E9ti0Dwz8491Hrnqo9SUQdRbwMCXM1NnN7R9f2TnTdTmfFHPMQkrFVQcfX3Q3mb-E2tbkwfy3gvzvPaAizq1ekMU3wynljjXyxmwsqGhOF6Qh/s640/P6220223.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The descent is
excruciating, though, as my knee is troubled and the loose pebbles are
treacherous. I survive, with one slip and a tumble, my hand landing on a clump
of prickle bush - ouch! By the end I am hobbling like a hunched old Greek
woman. But it is a triumphant photo that the workers take once we get back to
our starting point.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVj_oDm8btAeQA4Got5I56ckAzMb3By_Ad2zqFdYhrNa5yokmZfcV3LHsKKiH7lUJ3o4t6lVhJyGSr8Mv1Lrp_mbbCG5Cq3cXdZGSr19Es8wFG6jhkzKMfIPCd3TC8eeaymgcu1ce5b5w/s1600/P6220033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVj_oDm8btAeQA4Got5I56ckAzMb3By_Ad2zqFdYhrNa5yokmZfcV3LHsKKiH7lUJ3o4t6lVhJyGSr8Mv1Lrp_mbbCG5Cq3cXdZGSr19Es8wFG6jhkzKMfIPCd3TC8eeaymgcu1ce5b5w/s320/P6220033.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We are not yet done – there is Zeus’ cave to see, though the
light is falling. We drive back through Zoniana where Giorgios knows of a local
taverna for a celebratory Greek coffee. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Metrio</i>
– with a bit of sugar - the taste takes me back forty years when this was the
only coffee that was served. The woman remembers Giorgios from a mountain hiking
group that used to stop here. She is curious about me – she knows Sydney.
Soon, apricots and raki appear. She comments on my Cretan lace scarf from the
wedding – and indicates that hers are better quality. I agree and happily
purchase one from her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Onwards on the high and lonely road towards the Nida plateau
and the cave. We pass no other vehicle – there is nothing here except sheep and
goats, some of whom do not move from the middle of the road without quite some
beeping. The sun drops in the sky, casting the mountains in austere, imposing majesty. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJWrDaMbsRFUhSJIsTaSBv-XN6KYEZcLIJNXZ_oNk0NZ66Oa47N7ZkHft7nDN9zhODbOXMD3cZtcPW4DN-RXnSL2rAsRDGyWmgrjYdAPwt89UYarrcscy-34XAqUhdFqwNA-tCKoRDpS-/s1600/WP_20180622_20_53_52_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJWrDaMbsRFUhSJIsTaSBv-XN6KYEZcLIJNXZ_oNk0NZ66Oa47N7ZkHft7nDN9zhODbOXMD3cZtcPW4DN-RXnSL2rAsRDGyWmgrjYdAPwt89UYarrcscy-34XAqUhdFqwNA-tCKoRDpS-/s640/WP_20180622_20_53_52_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I can’t help but think of the hot shower that supposedly awaits us at the Shepherd’s shelter where we will stay tonight, a complex based around a traditional mitata, lovingly built by another dominant character in the region, Papandreas: shepherd, builder extraordinaire and a man who also doubles as a priest.<br />
<br />
The road seems long and my knee is aching. A sign indicates there
is a further 1.5 kilometres to walk (upwards) to the entrance. I am determined and
try to ignore the pain. We set off, though I wince at every step. It turns out
there <i>was</i> a road that we only see when we arrive at the top. Giorgis returns
to get the car, ever attentive to my pain! But when I finally stagger to the
grilled entrance, I see it is closed. There are no opening times advertised, so
we couldn’t have known. Like I said – I am determined. Despite my knee, I see a
way of climbing up and over the barrier and I am there! At the legendary cave, very
sacred for the Greeks; a number of relics from Minoan times, even, have been
found here. I view the large entrance to a cavern, watch the swallows flit
in and out, and my voice echoes. I have no inclination to stay long, with the
lure of the shower and dinner foremost on my mind. But also – it feels isolated
and lonely. Unlike my protagonists, who have to spend the night here – I will
be warm and comfortable tonight. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkyYt4YqVSMzJBjOZBxm6oTPWWi1I7KdN668E6s8Kdi72hGHqXrP6wcoyfm6UOiVKhd_KMJwzo5nqJX0AmlpNoNS5JAEKMLaG18sZ_BsW_ibiTP63U-_R3Em6OmRYjQhbthWsF56Rll5m/s1600/P6230236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkyYt4YqVSMzJBjOZBxm6oTPWWi1I7KdN668E6s8Kdi72hGHqXrP6wcoyfm6UOiVKhd_KMJwzo5nqJX0AmlpNoNS5JAEKMLaG18sZ_BsW_ibiTP63U-_R3Em6OmRYjQhbthWsF56Rll5m/s320/P6230236.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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But Giorgios regrets to tell me - he is not sure there will
be a shower. Certainly, no electricity - that requires the generator. Papandreas
has been called away and will not be there to greet us – nor are we sure he
will be there in the morning. There may not be breakfast. Is it worth it? Perhaps
I should return to Rethymo to seek a bland, boring hotel bed – but with the
possibility of a shower. As it is so late, we decide to think it over at a
taverna instead of buying food to prepare. We stop for a delicious souvlaki,
salad, pita and heavenly mizithra in Anogeia, hopping with evening energy and life.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I am decided; I will forego the shower and we continue on to
Papandreas’ shelter, just out of the village of Krana. The chance of meeting this
charismatic shepherd is worth much more than a hot shower after a six hour mountain
hike! There is a washbasin and a clean toilet. We put our mobiles on flashlight
and Giorgis finds the headtorches. He makes up a simple bed on the couch, with
clean white sheets. We open the window to the clear mountain breeze and after a
scan of the starry sky and a glimpse of the silhouetted constructions, I fall
into a comfortable and grateful sleep.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
We are woken next morning by the sound of a truck. Papandreas
starts early, there is much to do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Papandreas has to keep moving but I manage to get a
photo that I think will go viral, of him milking the sheep – the ewe upside
down and inelegantly pulled though Papandreas’ legs so he can squeeze the milk
from the teats into the bucket. It takes about thirty second per ewe - they
don’t seem to mind!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf4QA-BRXPdrRLTWvLScMyPOmjDSSKyn3cU5NWKB68J-1Qy7Priq30ZFfZRYn3zl0lPihUNNIV7Nxspx1w1QqJIDaFd1l71yHFpAg-n0i4Yjra4dB6OZTxCqSaJazF1XPZBtysmOQ8tzK/s1600/P6230249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf4QA-BRXPdrRLTWvLScMyPOmjDSSKyn3cU5NWKB68J-1Qy7Priq30ZFfZRYn3zl0lPihUNNIV7Nxspx1w1QqJIDaFd1l71yHFpAg-n0i4Yjra4dB6OZTxCqSaJazF1XPZBtysmOQ8tzK/s640/P6230249.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
He takes us to the mitata, beautifully constructed, yes, for the tourist market but authentically and expertly done - it is an awesome monument to the hard work of Papandreas and his sons. There are wood ovens and a lamb spit, a proper milking set up and pens for the goats, a quarry, long stone benches, herb beds, sheep and goat pens. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqyk9ArfrDlwjMnw3p6W1iBTzgL99uGm5_V-Os8MsH7oxGlNxTyEgPOyiSkBFkFlAxrRUWRM86cUv6DcuMcnOQiOXNuxaTBIDAK_8_0GcmqrQLXNLOMwkacODMcJ75oYSHWwwtXDf4rtb/s1600/WP_20180623_08_11_42_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqyk9ArfrDlwjMnw3p6W1iBTzgL99uGm5_V-Os8MsH7oxGlNxTyEgPOyiSkBFkFlAxrRUWRM86cUv6DcuMcnOQiOXNuxaTBIDAK_8_0GcmqrQLXNLOMwkacODMcJ75oYSHWwwtXDf4rtb/s640/WP_20180623_08_11_42_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a>Of course there is breakfast! Papandreas pulls out a<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>graviera</i> and an <i>anthotiros</i>, (a softer, less mature cheese)
and finds us apples, tomatoes and honey. Giorgis makes an excellent Greek
coffee and once again, I don’t regret my decision. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhee1ePp6Z2jN72UWX78ayuo-UvPsiwk_lXYmekUVxD832Du-eYIRq282d2CfDPoepfSxrO2QkHol04FPZkJbTUFslgTPJGWLj-I5azO-aO_F6QbmJCOFRr0hlecdhNCbFfSC1fl4GYR4uf/s1600/P6230246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhee1ePp6Z2jN72UWX78ayuo-UvPsiwk_lXYmekUVxD832Du-eYIRq282d2CfDPoepfSxrO2QkHol04FPZkJbTUFslgTPJGWLj-I5azO-aO_F6QbmJCOFRr0hlecdhNCbFfSC1fl4GYR4uf/s320/P6230246.jpg" width="240" /></a>Giorgis explains to Papandreas, the dilemma I had deciding whether to stay or return to Rethymno for a hot shower.‘But why would you?’ he comments. ‘When this is your second home?’<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laugh, warm with the feeling of welcome that I have been
lucky to re-experience - after almost forty years - in this most generous and
hospitable of places. Eleni and her team are trying to do something very special - challenging and very authentic: tourism where you really connect with locals and see the world
through their eyes. It is a fond farewell to Giorgios when he drops me to the
bus station at Rethymno, where I will board a bus for Chora Sfakia on the
South Western coast of Crete. I will join my writing group in the little fishing port
of Loutro and complete the next stage of my novel – incorporating these unforgettable experiences with Eleni and her shepherds on the
mountains of Crete.<o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TyVRt6FQMPVuMcaAjct1AOKJnuyDtciC7hg-NBIJ3WJ2GKeyGMeGO4csnyuMvCATRtkkvByrLVXOnlGBwsw35Dn_J6gwbc0nw8wkqCwjw-n7aDwf4Ji8Lbe911qAl1c1dNP0XKgAZCdO/s1600/OI000021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TyVRt6FQMPVuMcaAjct1AOKJnuyDtciC7hg-NBIJ3WJ2GKeyGMeGO4csnyuMvCATRtkkvByrLVXOnlGBwsw35Dn_J6gwbc0nw8wkqCwjw-n7aDwf4Ji8Lbe911qAl1c1dNP0XKgAZCdO/s640/OI000021.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-85461666453472534372016-09-21T17:16:00.001+09:302016-09-21T17:16:20.505+09:30My Short Story Collection published with Wordrunner :)<a href="http://www.echapbook.com/fiction/goldsmith/" target="_blank">Beyond the Line</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-58663437943940678502016-08-01T22:09:00.000+09:302016-08-01T22:11:02.223+09:30My flash piece 'Breathe' short-listed in Brilliant Flash Fiction Second Anniversary Competition<a href="https://brilliantflashfictionmag.wordpress.com/2016/06/21/second-anniversary-writing-contest-results/" target="_blank">Scroll down to read my flash piece 'Breathe'</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJ9AH0uKXErmfhg1DiW-uq0iBv5MNMqv6pn0iXFXqe-DNYi_giyOvZBe5qJ2znse7GJmEgiK-cANlWahUAAVQBAqxe_t2QY9GhNEBhumeG_ObF8rz85QHiaZuKFyZDsY2DO_Wp65AfbEk/s1600/WP_20160224_20_13_45_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJ9AH0uKXErmfhg1DiW-uq0iBv5MNMqv6pn0iXFXqe-DNYi_giyOvZBe5qJ2znse7GJmEgiK-cANlWahUAAVQBAqxe_t2QY9GhNEBhumeG_ObF8rz85QHiaZuKFyZDsY2DO_Wp65AfbEk/s320/WP_20160224_20_13_45_Pro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Geneva, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px;">Judge Ty Spencer Vossler comments: “Congratulations to every one of the twelve finalists. Each story was amazing, and it was a privilege to have read them. Keep up the great work. The cream always rises to the top, and you are all there.”</span>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-43321772028561625212016-05-12T21:06:00.000+09:302016-05-12T21:06:19.002+09:30Kangaroo Island post published in Orion<a href="https://orionmagazine.org/place/42318/" target="_blank">Kangaroo Island</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4HWVU90xwuGEbazN5V4empv50I_CFYSAGM8ma_IKJLjThLdezpETqi8i2I8rOExT8iwxTndG2l7Ac714_0ERt-dIkDBQrGzvh6qU7VUWMWhtR0SJQHFfGqwfIKTtTqPjyEKKcDQd4jeR/s1600/Kangaroo+at+Pelican+Lagoon%252C+near+American+River%252C+Kangaroo+Island%252C+South+Australia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4HWVU90xwuGEbazN5V4empv50I_CFYSAGM8ma_IKJLjThLdezpETqi8i2I8rOExT8iwxTndG2l7Ac714_0ERt-dIkDBQrGzvh6qU7VUWMWhtR0SJQHFfGqwfIKTtTqPjyEKKcDQd4jeR/s320/Kangaroo+at+Pelican+Lagoon%252C+near+American+River%252C+Kangaroo+Island%252C+South+Australia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-87874270901428713702016-02-10T19:38:00.001+10:302016-02-10T19:40:44.050+10:30<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvuqXXofLRcZ8drf_qRvn24XVgj9ukTYe63EbnGfBWMxcm5pCOpT6p1e8Gh3L8_4hcZxLxm4J7z5XIbMOgqD0p316MofFe2mCRraLGEAhT5Mj-Ux2PX0T4TfJM1PKXdDyTNq4SpZvq1HX/s1600/InstagramCapture_8f2b6c5d-4cab-4864-977f-5b783a9fa5f3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvuqXXofLRcZ8drf_qRvn24XVgj9ukTYe63EbnGfBWMxcm5pCOpT6p1e8Gh3L8_4hcZxLxm4J7z5XIbMOgqD0p316MofFe2mCRraLGEAhT5Mj-Ux2PX0T4TfJM1PKXdDyTNq4SpZvq1HX/s320/InstagramCapture_8f2b6c5d-4cab-4864-977f-5b783a9fa5f3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-71026460006039023502015-12-16T10:35:00.002+10:302016-02-10T19:42:08.438+10:30<a href="https://plus.google.com/103009542619877643992/posts/CneCVAxpogf" target="_blank">Writing as Therapy</a> - quoted in Gina McColl's article in the Sunday AgeJane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-60576117748870003292015-10-20T22:14:00.003+10:302016-02-05T11:47:15.901+10:30My interview with Carrie Thomson-Casey, of the Abnormal Psychologist on the therapeutic benefits of writing <a href="http://thewellnesscouch.com/tap/tap-49-story-making-and-storytelling-exploring-the-therapeutic-benefits" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-89289155188084089602015-10-07T22:29:00.003+10:302015-10-07T22:29:31.416+10:30<a href="https://www.picfair.com/pics/61510564-country-church-at-sunset" target="_blank">From my Picfair album, more on google +</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhei9B4t2iUKLRXzl0HAOrCa1IJOTwTxsC1bHiQXmOhDy4tdcAFeHU82YSjwxVUjIu4Wd93qNIG40elZZ5161829qbKbKvon1KCmp5ajUT0VTdcQ3AhHt1ChOuJ7GlZZ9-vUruS1wKIg3WL/s1600/WP_20151002_18_15_56_Pro__highres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhei9B4t2iUKLRXzl0HAOrCa1IJOTwTxsC1bHiQXmOhDy4tdcAFeHU82YSjwxVUjIu4Wd93qNIG40elZZ5161829qbKbKvon1KCmp5ajUT0VTdcQ3AhHt1ChOuJ7GlZZ9-vUruS1wKIg3WL/s320/WP_20151002_18_15_56_Pro__highres.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-70667406894524852932015-08-21T12:04:00.001+09:302015-08-21T15:47:34.319+09:30Storymaking and storytelling: An exploration of the psychotherapeutic benefitsMy article, weaving research findings and personal experience was published in June 2015 in <a href="http://www.psychology.org.au/inpsych/2015/june/goldsmith/" target="_blank">InPsych</a>, the bulletin of the Australian Psychological Society.<br />
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<img src="http://www.psychology.org.au/Assets/Images/IP-June15-cover.jpg" />Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-64005279475320941672015-08-21T11:38:00.005+09:302015-08-21T15:45:48.499+09:30'Highly Commended' in the Hadow Stuart short story competition 2015!<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zO1QiigafvcupwlE2HWUG6oheI2qUIBHZN9Fa5eZUOMae6S80fzoQeL6CYU076jBxG5h4plzdHK8j9OtHDyv6Tw05pVKgjYRjp1Ju2cQh_sXn_4gTgpC5A89BubdE1vj0iABjRx8mONW/s320/IMG_4024.JPG" /></div>
My short story, 'The skies will be clear' was highly commended in this Fellowship of Western Australian Writers short story competition. Here is judge Susan Midalia's report:<br />
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<b><span lang="EN-US"> ‘The Skies will be Clear’ </span></b><span lang="EN-US">centres on a chance encounter at the Perth Zoo between a young
Chinese student and a man estranged from his wife and child. Interweaving the
young woman’s past, with its poignant tale of unrequited love, and her present
loneliness, the story uses fragments of conversation, as well as symbols and
gestures, to suggest the possibility of new beginnings for both characters. A
lesser writer would have taken a subject like this and slathered on the
sentiment, but this story is beautifully understated, poignant and tender."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">(It wasn't at all at the Perth zoo, but we must forgive the judge for transposing the story to her city!)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.fawwa.org/" target="_blank">Here</a> is the full report (scroll down to the link).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://media.wix.com/ugd/5ad191_5edfa439c62f4c248cc97a532750906f.pdf" target="_blank">Here</a> is the story.</span><br />
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Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-48166241929386056662015-05-27T14:23:00.004+09:302015-05-27T14:27:29.666+09:30<a href="https://radio.adelaide.edu.au/program/global-generation/" target="_blank">Radio interview on 'stress'</a><br />
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Scroll down to 'all podcasts' and find the one on 'stress management' from the 1st May 2015.<br />
It's a Radio Adelaide interview of about 7 minutes and I'm on in the last half of the interview.<br />
:)Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-42953464163789308832015-01-25T09:50:00.001+10:302015-01-25T09:50:21.954+10:30Top Four Best Practices for Writing Great Book Blurbs | Digital Book World<a href="http://www.digitalbookworld.com/2014/top-4-best-practices-for-writing-great-book-blurbs/">Top Four Best Practices for Writing Great Book Blurbs | Digital Book World</a>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-773761126140230725.post-86012734292675659732014-10-08T21:16:00.001+10:302014-10-08T21:16:04.943+10:30Face Your Fears - UniThrive<a href="http://blogs.adelaide.edu.au/uni-thrive/2014/10/08/face-your-fears/#.VDUV4_4UIFt.blogger">Face Your Fears - UniThrive</a>Jane Turner Goldsmithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322200020877310036noreply@blogger.com0