Before I knew it the time had come to leave Tarraleah. As excited as I was about being back on the road, to spend a couple of months travelling day to day (something I haven’t done in nearly a year), I was truly sad to be leaving the place and even more so, the people, I have come to love.
The odd power cut, the lack of wi-fi and the general difficulty to communicate with the outside world were idiosyncrasies that, to me, made the place great and helped me form the bonds there that I did. The time gave me the opportunity not only to learn about others, but to learn more about myself, both on a mental and physical level. Not distracted by the busy nature of the world I could observe how my body felt after eating or drinking different foods, and I took the time to work on things I had long wanted to do.
I began to teach myself to tune into my surroundings like I hadn’t before, listening to what was happening then and there, instead of the mindless wittering in my head. Pleasantly aware of a gentle buzz of conversations as I cleared and re-set tables in the restaurant, or the clattering of cutlery as we made coffee in the café. Noises that may all too easily pass by unnoticed, but are integral layers in creating each individual atmosphere.
My last few days were filled with appreciating all those parts and people that had made Tarraleah so wonderful for me. A drink shared with our ‘locals’ (a group of Hydro guys that had been there every week since I’d started work); a walk at dusk that gave me a chance to see the Hydro pipes beneath a brilliant moon and glowing pink sky. Staying up too late to chat about life, the world and anything else we could think of; a visit to the local Hamilton Show, a place of such contrast to Tarraleah, it felt like we had suddenly taken a step deep into outback Australia (though with less cowboy hats than we’d hoped).
I don’t cry very often, but knowing I would never again live within that community, with all of those amazing souls around me, brought a few tears to my eyes.
