I have always loved travelling, visiting family and familiar places as well as exploring new destinations. The excitement mixed with a little nervous energy, part of my makeup, but never enough to make me not want to travel.

That is till Covid hit and turned our lives upside down. Then travel all of a sudden seemed the scariest thing in the world.

In Australia, where I live, we remained relatively Covid free in the beginning of the pandemic when so many countries suffered a huge loss of lives. As an island, we had the ‘luxury’ to isolate ourselves from the rest of the world. But our ‘freedom’ from Covid came at a loss. It virtually meant no travel in or out of Australia for a long time. Even our state borders closed and in Sydney our lock downs meant the government restricted us to only travel within a 10 km radius from home. Indeed, a strange time. Then vaccines came, and we slowly opened up, followed by the new variant Omicron. Lockdown and working from home again. All the changes over the last two years have been totally exhausting.

This post will not be about Covid and what we went through, but I know the experience influenced me as a person. To finally book this trip and hop on a long plane trip across to Denmark was a huge step for me. Totally out of my comfort zone. But the prospect of seeing my family again got me across the line. My last trip to Denmark was Xmas 2017, almost 5 years ago. If Covid taught me one thing, it’s that none of us know what’s around the corner. I did not want to defer my trip to the following year and maybe live to regret it. 

So my flight got booked and here I am. At my sister’s place recovering from a bit of jet lag and a body that aches like I just took part in a marathon. But otherwise thrilled to be here. 

Let’s take a few steps back to when my trip started in Sydney. 

My flight was an evening flight, so I hoped it would help me have a good sleep. I had the day off, so less stress getting sorted and packed. But the day dragged. Excitement and stress raced through my body, taking turns in being the dominant runner.

I hopped in an Uber late afternoon and made my way to the airport. It wasn’t too busy and the baggage check-in progressed relatively easy. They had assigned me a window seat despite preference for being an aisle. With a fully booked plane and it was impossible to change it. Already a bit concerned about having to wear a face masks for the long flight the window seat added to my stress. Claustrophobic tendencies and being locked in a window seat have in the past brought on the unwelcome panic. So I book aisle seats. This time there was no way out of it. I had a fourteen hour flight in front of me squashed into a window seat. I had to accept it and told myself I could deal with it but also knew claustrophobia could come on out of the blue and often makes no sense to the normal mind. Strangely enough, part of me also found this challenge empowering. Resolute on not letting it bother me I focused on the benefits of a  better view out of the plane. 

The plane, a big comfortable A380, sported plenty of seat room and I settled in next to a young couple. A surprising calm settled in me. The plane ran late by an hour because of an ill passenger needing to off board the plane. For a short moment I wondered if it the traveller had Covid, but I soon persuaded myself  to not let my mind take me down that path.

As we took off, the view across Sydney mesmerised me. Lights shone like diamonds everywhere and the roads slid across the city like giant lit up snakes. A beautiful sight that I would not have enjoyed from an aisle seat.

The face mask didn’t really bother me. I wear a very comfortable reusable mask from Airinum with KN95 filters. But for the first time I had to wear it for 24 hours straight. I can report even after 24 hours I had no issues. Many did though. Some passengers, even though it was compulsary to wear the mask, would ‘forget’ when getting up after finishing their meals, or wear them under their noses or chins. A common sight in everyday life that always makes me wonder. Are they just plain stupid, rebellious of nature or just don’t care for others? But we are all different I guess, and do what we are capable of in life. The Covid pandemic has affected us all and each of us have had to make choices that we could live with and stay both physically and mentally strong throughout this strange time. For me wearing a mask was such a simple thing to do not only avoid catching Covid but more so a way to avoid spreading it to someone more vulnerable.

Because of the initial delay in take off from Sydney, we arrived late in Dubei, which meant a very short layover. Just enough time to do a quick pit stop at the bathroom, then walk the long trek to the gate. Why are gates always on opposite ends of an airport? Do they do that to make us passengers walk more? Good exercise after sitting, I guess.

Next leg, a six hour flight to Copenhagen. My destination getting closer and hearing the Danish language from the captain announcing the flight journey made me smile under the mask. Going back to my birth land again filled me with content and happiness. The older I get, the more I connect to Denmark and to its people and rituals. It means more to me. When we age life slows down and with less responsibility of career and family life, we gain time to dig deep and think about our true feelings. What we are about. I love that about getting older. Perhaps there is some truth about the saying ‘You can take the girl out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the girl’.

I finally arrived on Danish soil and the sound of the Danish language could be heard all around me. Clouds covered the sky and a little cool breeze greeted me but the constant walking from the plane through customs, picking up luggage, hopping on train to Copenhagen central station kept me warm. I felt exhausted. I had plans to get a local sim card at the station and enjoy my first hot dog. A Danish delicacy I normally must have as soon as I land. But tiredness took over and the hot dog got the flick.

I just wanted to catch the first train across to Jutland, where my sister would pick me up. I got my ticket and headed to the platform. A three hour fast train trip with one train switch. I could manage that. So you would think, right? But nope, my tired body and brain, after two hours on the train the switch proved too hard. I got myself on a train heading at great speed back towards Copenhagen. I almost cried when I found out. So this girl got herself off at the next station, again up and down stairs with heavy luggage, work out which platform would get me on a train back to the station I had come from, so I could get on the correct train. An extra hour to the already long trip I did not need.

But the error meant I got to meet a lovely Danish woman, a connection I would never have experienced. Her husband was very ill after a blood clot, unable to function and speak. She would regularly do the long train trip to visit him. A very sad story, but her positive outlook amazed me. My little trip error shrunk next to her problem. 

I finally arrived at Herning station at 7pm greeted by my sister’s beaming face on the platform. 30 minutes later, after a shower and fresh clothes, I sat down to enjoy a scrumptious dinner of smorrebrod with my sister, brother and sister-in-law. We chatted and laughed till long into the evening. My heart overflowed. I was home. 

Despite the stressful decision to go and the long trip from Sydney, I am proud I did it and absolutely worth it. This photo says it all.

The Xmas Card

Photo by Danish photographer Rene Asmussen –

Anna sat down to write on the multi coloured Christmas card she had spent over an hour selecting in the David Jones Xmas section. Baby animals jumping around the well known portly man in his red suit filled the front of the card. Anna was sure her new grandson would love it. Her first grandchild.

‘Dear Jacob’, Anna started, imagining her daughter reading out the words to the young baby who’s age was still being counted in weeks and days.

Anna wanted the card to be special. It was going to be Jacob’s first Christmas. She would much prefer to be there, to hold him tight and whisper ‘Merry Christmas my little one’ into his ear, but it was not to be this time.

She stared at the blank inside of the card. The words did not flow. Instead, wet giant silent tears formed and trickled down her cheek. Images of Jacob from the many photos and videos her daughter Lilly had sent rolled in front of her eyes. This tiny human that she had yet to meet in person had already taken up a massive chunk of her heart. He was not her own baby, but the feelings she felt for him seemed as strong as her feelings were for Lilly. It had taken Anna by surprise, and memories of holding her own babies had come flooding back. She longed to hold this baby, but it was too dangerous to travel just yet with the pandemic still raging.

She wiped her cheek and pushed the chair back, making it almost fall over. The heat in her chest spread like wildfire across her body, causing knots in her throat and redness in her cheeks. 

Damn flushes. Not now!!

Anna couldn’t control the tears or the hot flush, and raced to the bathroom, stripped down naked into the shower of welcoming cool water. While the tears flowed down her cheeks the tightness in her chest and throat eased. The roughness of the towel drying her body felt comforting.

She walked back into the kitchen and made herself a cool drink from the fresh mint leaves and soda, then pulled out the old family photo album.

Pictures of happy faces over the years, sleeping babies, birthday parties and picnics. And many Christmas’s; silver and gold adorned trees, tables laded with turkey and glazed ham, steaming pudding full of rich marinated fruit and warm creamy custard. 

Christmas in so many locations, most years in their old red brick home. But also the occasional Christmas spent abroad in the cold northern winter with snow and darkness outside, and smells of vanilla cookies, roast pork and pine needles inside. Other times with friends up north in the blistering heat, everyone in swimmers in the backyard under the tarp thrown over the Hills-hoist, and the kids playing with their water guns soaking wet and laughing.

So many memories in the photo album, but also in Anna’s heart and she knew in her children’s heart. No Christmas had ever been a sad event for the little ones, even if the adults had had their own problems to deal with. For the kids, every Christmas had always meant good times and lots of presents. 

Jacob would have many more Christmas days, and Anna knew she would celebrate with him one day. His parents would be with him this year. It would be their new little family Christmas. Their time to start their very own mesh of old and new family traditions filling albums of happy memories.

Anna sat down to write.

Dear Jacob,

You don’t know me yet, but you will soon. I am your Grandma from Sydney, where our Christmas is in summer, and the sun shines almost every day. We will meet one day, and I will read Australian books to you, and show you pictures from your mum’s homeland. Maybe one day you can visit me, and I can take you to places I am sure you will love; giant beaches and bays, shady bush lands with enormous trees reaching right up to the clouds, and so many wonderful animals that will make you squeal with delight.

Till we meet my love, I welcome you to life, and hope you have a wonderful blessed Christmas with your very own mum and dad.

Love Grandma xxx

It’s a Small World

‘It’s a small world!’.

How many times have you said that in your life? I know I have many times. That was until 2020.

The world hasn’t changed in size. Just feels that way. With the global pandemic we are no longer free flying birds, hopping on planes and zipping to the other side of the world in a day. Travel restrictions and limited planes have slowed it all down, in fact almost to a grinding halt. The cold reality of distance has crept into our anxious minds; distance between us and our loved one’s overseas.

It feels like when I first came to Australia many years ago in my early twenties. I left my family behind in Denmark to start a new life down-under with my love and soon to be husband. We were young and money was tight. Trips back to visit my Danish family then were rare. Each time I worried that Australia would not let me in. I loved living in Australia, so different to the cold winters of the north.

I never imagined there would come a day when Australia would not let me out. That the world would not be free to travel. That I could not visit my family in Denmark and my daughter in the US whenever I wanted to. But that is our new normal. For now. For how long? The uncertainty is sometimes worse than the restriction itself.

It makes the tough times we are finding ourselves in tougher by not being with people we love. It’s natural to want to have family close by. To want them safe and to feel safe ourselves. To hold them tight and be with them in person. FaceTime and the internet is a blessing but it can never beat seeing their smiles and hugging them tight. 

I cannot wait to do that. One day. Soon. 

When the world is small again.

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To an outsider we would have looked like any normal family going on a weekend hike, but each of us, mum, dad, sister Kit and I, knew it was not. We had no choice but to pack up and head west. Away from our once shimmering, pulsating city now gasping for breath with only the stench of fear and rotten garbage its only reminder of modern civilization.

We headed out with a sense of excited relief and quiet despair, dad trying to keep the mood light and mum’s brown eyes smiling behind her mask covered in silent tears. We had all worn masks outside for months. Most had. But still most had died. Or left like us. Disappeared without a trace.

Dad drove our old Toyota Hilux till it ran out of petrol just on the other side of the mountain range. Then we had to walk carrying our gear through the steep descent into the valley of thick bushland. Dad was on a mission to the get there by nightfall to set up camp. ‘Keep walking. We will be safe there’ he kept saying. I limped along; pain shooting from throbbing blisters on my heels. Kit was crying and dad picked her up and carried both her and the heaviest backpack with our water supply. Mum stumbled, and I grabbed her hand. It felt warm and comforting. We continued for what seemed hours, Kit on Dad’s back and mum and I behind.

‘This is it!’ Dad smiled. ‘Let’s set up camp here.’

It was nothing like our home, but the small grassed clearing with the freshwater creek nearby and dense tall gumtrees all around that night was heaven. Mum soon had the fire burning with the smell of garlic and dried vegetables wafting through the place. We feasted and told funny stories, we laughed and we shed a few quiet tears in the dark. Life almost felt good and normal again; as if we were just on another camping trip.

But it wasn’t. We left the city, but the city came with us. It stalked us through the bushes, and safety was only a momentary illusion. We knew as soon as we lost Kit. We knew it was with us. We stopped hugging and sharing utensils. But we stayed together. Like robots without souls, we walked the bush further and further inland. But it stayed with us. One by one, first mum, then dad, then…..for the first time in my 17 years I was all alone. Totally and utterly alone. Not alone in a house, not alone in my room. No, I was totally alone in the outback. God only knows where. I didn’t. I sat for hours in the thick bush surrounded by an abundance of wildlife that had no idea what was happening in the world, in my world.  I yelled into the empty vastness and finally cried myself to sleep.

That was 75 days ago. I have kept tally of the days in my notebook just to keep my mind sane. Somehow knowing what day it is makes me feel normal. I have a routine now. Every day I walk till the sun is highest in the sky, then I find a camp site and spend the rest of the day catching and preparing my dinner. My slingshot it great for getting little birds, a perfect size meal.  Sometimes I go for days with just water and berries. I have gone for 75 days without human contact. Not sure which hunger is the worst. The rumbles of my stomach can be quietened by  a descent feast, but the rumbles of my soul are always there. The longing for human touch, for a connection, the need to ease the anxiety, the fear of being alone, is always there beneath the surface of toughness.

Today my routine changed. It was cold, and I kept walking to stay warm. The breeze cut right through my worn jacket and dirty jeans in spite of the extra layers of shirts underneath. I was still searching for a protected campsite or a small cabin, if lucky, when the sun was starting to set. I felt a sense of panic as I heard my dad’s voice in my head ‘Always set up camp and a fire before dark.’

That’s when I smelt the smoke and saw the glow from a distant fire. Another hiker. Another human being. My heart raced. From fear and from excitement and the thought of maybe a warm meal. Could I risk it? I circled closer. In the dark, I could make out only one person. A slight build. I felt braver. I could win a fight if I had to. I was only metres away from the camp fire, and could feel the inviting glow on my body melting away any last bit of resistance. I stumbled, the person turned and pointed a gun at me.

‘Don’t come closer or I shoot you,’ the voice yelled.

Big blue eyes looked into mine, full of fear. A girl my age, her face dirty and streaked from days in the bush.

‘You look worse than me’ I tried to joke and smiled.

Her look softened and her gun lowered just for a moment.

‘You don’t need that’ I pointed to the gun. ‘Im not going to hurt you.’

‘How do I know you’re not sick like everyone else?’  her voice trembled.

‘Im not. I have been by myself for over 75 days. No contact with anyone else since my whole family passed. Im clean.’

She looked into my eyes, the frown on her forehead disappeared, and in that moment we both felt it. That overwhelming need to hold someone.

“Can I hug you?’ I asked, taking a step towards her.

She put down the gun and slowly moved into my outstretched arms, and for a long time all I heard was the beat of our hearts and the quiet sighs escaping from us both. We instantly knew from that day on we would begin our new normal. Together.




We are now halfway through 2020; a year of turmoil and change, but also a year of hope for a better life. Hope because the events that have unfolded this year has made us all appreciate what matters; love, family, human contact, freedom, time to reflect, our health and waking up every morning still BREATHING.

In fact, BREATHING seems to have been a common thread through the chaos we have experienced in 2020.

First the bushfires that ravaged such a vast part of Australia in our summer season and continued into the start of this year. Smoke filled the air even in places far from the burning bush. It blanketed Sydney for months and many stayed indoors because of the worst air quality experienced in our normally bright and clean city. Our BREATHING was restricted, and we felt it in our lungs when venturing outdoors on bad days.

Then Covid-19 started surfacing in China, a virus affecting the respiratory system and in worst cases requiring ventilators to assist with BREATHING. By March Australia saw a surge in cases and we went into lockdown. We needed to contain the virus as our hospitals and medical supplies were not ready to deal with mass infections. Mass production of both masks and respirators commenced in the anticipation of hospitals potentially filling with people not being able to BREATHE by themselves.

The restrictions has helped Australia manage Covid-19 so far, and we are seeing very few cases emerge now apart from travellers returning or cluster cases. We are in a new phase of easing up on the restrictions, though many businesses continue to work from home. Some are going back to what they used to do, as if everything is back to normal, but we are far from it. Right now we are in ‘holding our BREATH’ mode to see what happens next.

To top it off amidst all the turmoil an American police officer arrested and killed George Floyd. His last words ‘I can’t BREATHE’ was captured on video and plastered on headlines online everywhere. This gross injustice lead to a massive protest movement across not only America but the world. Amidst the dangers of Covid-19 people gathered in peaceful protests wearing masks to voice their opinion about the injustice against people of colour. It escalated and within days America was in chaos.

George Floyd’s last words echoes what has been the issue for many all of 2020. For people of restricted freedom and privileges, it has been an issue for a lot longer.

What are we being told? What is it we need to learn before we can move forward to a new normal?

BREATHING is our life force. Not just for us humans. It’s the basis of all existence. Animals breathe, plants breathe. We all breathe in coexistence and codependence. Our breath brings us back to a balanced life, it grounds us, it sustains us, it nurtures our bodies. We must breathe to exist.

A new normal must make BREATHING a top priority on all levels, from daily interactions to top corporate visions. It’s that simple. And also that complex.

Positive Thought 17/1/2019

Today’s positive…this morning I chatted to my sister in Denmark, excited about her first grandchild due in three weeks, as well as my daughter in San Fransisco, excited about her wedding in September. 2019 is shaping up to be a big year!

Positive Thought 31/12/2018

Today’s positive…being privileged to live another year creating beautiful memories with loved ones, meeting strangers now friends and gaining new knowledge through challenges and experiences. Life indeed is one big positive.

Tomorrow I look forward to reading through all my Positive Thoughts for 2018, and starting again for the new 2019.

Thanks for following and inspiring me to continue my writing.

Wishing you all a wonderful and happy NY