Some moments in your life are poignant, an intense lingering feeling through time. Turning 34 was not really one of them. The bigger the number the higher the expectation. Rather than being happy with each day as different as they are, it seems that this one day has to be somehow better than all the others. Expectation kills all the best intentions. And even though I know this, I still look forward to a day that promises to be bolder than any other. (Poor Jacob, the things he has to put up with!)
We went to Kuranda for the day, had breakfast, walked around the markets and spent the afternoon trying to let Bodhi crawl off the sugar from the chocolate croissant. Kuranda is a hippie village set in the rainforest in the Cairns Tablelands. Vibrant and colourful in the brochure but suspicious and sinister in person, as if hiding something. A hectare crop of bush weed perhaps? There seemed to be a vast difference in those that owned Kuranda and those that lived there and have done for thousands of years. As we walked around the tourist driven streets we felt an undertow of anger directed at us. The rainbow banners and prayer flags covering up social issues and figures of unemployment, trying hard to sell peace and love at the biggest mark up.
We retired for the evening in our little abode, more homely than home on an overcast day. We put Bodhi to bed and Jake prepared a cheese platter that rivalled any restaurants and any expectations. We sipped bold red wine, ate our fill and crooned by candelight.