Across the Adriatic

Nuance, taste and texture. How flavours are combined to enhance the overall sensations of sit-down dining. Add the ambiance and the mood. And one may then have a truly relaxing meal.

On the Friday evening of Halloween this year, the three of us had Italian. Eu-gene and Sheridan had come up from Melbourne, and it was a good opportunity to catch up. Al dente spaghetti that were infused with the light yet wholesome savoury feel when mixed with fresh vongole juices. Top up with well marinated tender lamb cutlets that were not fatty but just lean right. For starters, we had thin crust pizza from a stone oven. For dolci, we finished off with hazelnut gelato and two types of biscotti. The crowd built up behind us with a crescendo of easy chatter. Haberfield has its regulars, even after the delis and specialist pastry shops closed, and even if Leichhardt beckoned with its more intense night life not far away.

The next day we decided to spend the afternoon mainly in Sydney's north shore, mingling with the swirling shopping crowds along Victoria Avenue in Chatswood and then having a leisurely drive to Manly and its sea side roads. Taking the Harbour Tunnel back to the cbd, we inadvertently passed by Harry's Cafe De Wheels in Wolloomooloo before going through Potts Point, the Cross and Darlinghurst. We aimed for an early dinner at Newtown's King Street before the Melbournians flew home.

We discovered a grill corner, literally with several choices of offerings and barbecue styles. We sat down for the Macedonian version, ordered both seafood and meats, garnished with onions and authentic salads from the Balkans that had potato and balsamic vinegar - but more tasty to me than sauerkrat. The grill chef wore a white tall hat and used black aromatic wood to bring out the taste in the grilled dishes. The barramundi was heavenly in the mouth and the pork had a batter that reminded me of my favourite Serbian dishes. I faced the window on to the busy street. There was a choice of Macedonian beer but we abstained.

Moving On

It dawned that the need for accumulation was a fallacy. The more one gains, he thought, the more one has to lose.

A rising surge of good feeling swept through as he looked at the papers shredded or thrown away in heaps. It was symbolic of the loss he felt inside, the loss of his sincere trust in certain others who manipulated or used him like a paper doll. Funny that such people can misplace his extended hand of friendship to them. Sad and disappointing, but in the end, for them. The physical disposal was also reflected in electronic deletion. He did not understand why certain individuals around the place were deluding themselves creating imagined needs and ordering others to duplicate things in so many dimensions, as if paranoid that these duplicates would be required in the future - or is it that these individuals actually had nothing of value to contribute and had to make a semblance of activity and importance around their wrapped minds?

It was not that amazing that so many things kept were not utilised, or missed, in the past few years. Now with a sprint of vitality, he slashed and cut, thankful it was not other people's livelihoods, income or jobs that were being destroyed, but only false clinging to things that will never be, never have been and better to be let go in the constant swirl of Nature's winds. People around him continue to be deluded and seemed to take pride basking in their delusion. Detachment was the best thing he awakened to, and now he was free.

At times it was not easy to move on, even if he had wanted to. Things kept coming in another channel at the same furious pace that he was letting go in another way. He contained the things he was responsible for into one corner, while at the same time he felt like bailing out rushing water from a possibly impossible situation. He was very strict with himself, not letting in the pessimism, the negative games and false pretences that certain other individuals imposed on him. These individuals continued to behave , perhaps in desperation, in the same mannerisms as if he could not see through and through. How despicable these characters can be, and now they are drowning in their own making and not knowing it.

Skaters

There they were, each in a seemingly cocooned world, all as if choreographed to a tilting perfection. Each person twirled and expressed in individualistic style, some were coached, others imagined on their own and yet there were some who moved in synchronised style, not just physically but in spirit. You could see that a few took a break after a short stint, while in contrast, some could not stop, and only did when there was a lack of space.

Most telling was how one reacted when there was an unintentional fall. The younger ones took all this more in their stride, and the older novices tended to be less sure of how to pick one's self up. More interesting was how a learner looked up to the mentor and watched in earnestness the graciousness of the teacher's moves. Even more rewarding was how the instructors had this satisfaction in their faces when they realised that their proteges had moved on to another stage of their passion. Maybe it takes more than just stirring interest to spend hours in the cold above frozen ice, maybe it's therapy that is provided with the flow and repetitive moves.

Some were too methodical and serious in their intentions, and that may have inhibited true expression. Yet others approached the whole thing as an informal Sunday stroll, without a care in the world. There were those who were not afraid to hold hands in public. There were those who wanted to hold hands but could not. All knew they were being observed and yet did not care. They were entertaining their inner need to dance their joy or worries away. Yet some had a goal and knew they had to work persistently on it. Some came with an open mind or because they wanted to accompany a loved one. Some did not expect anything and had a sheer experience of discovering something precious previously hidden from them.

The music in their hearts were at times accompanied by the music blaring from the speakers. This activity offered a chance to synchronise one's physical moves with light, sound and other senses. I could see some practising over and over again their favourite moves, while not far away, a youngster was gradually gaining confidence in starting some move he had long dreamnt of being able to do. Even if every body seemed to be doing something different at any one time on the rink, they exuded a common sense of purpose over one flat piece of space. At most times, there was silence, but then comes the spontaneous squeak and howl, and the inevitable laughter of sheer enjoyment.