Each of these photos was taken in Geiranger, at descending altitudes. A phenomenal geography that I was privileged to spend the past two evenings at.

Norway waterfall fatigue is a real thing. They are everywhere, the equivalent of dead kangaroos on Australian road trips. Even the kitchen tap of every place we've stayed has gushed rapidly by default. But you do see some occasional epic ones which make you pause.

Dalsnibba is the mountain where we stood in the snow, which then melts in spring to create the torrents which carve through rocks to create rivers, which gravity pulls over ledges until eventually the water reaches the fjord, carved by glaciers millions of years ago. Standing on the prow of the ferry that took us and the car from Geiranger to Hellesylt was an incredible experience, an hour of being a tiny human in a canyon of rock. Like the water, we had found our way through meanderings and cascadings to this point.

Rock, water, logs.

There has not been a museum or art gallery in sight on this trip so far. Human history and culture has a place, but after 2023's tour of Roman stones and baby Jesuses, I made a conscious decision to make Norway 2025 a holiday dedicated to nature. This morning I sat on a boulder, eating fruit and nut muesli with yoghurt, watching the sunlight filter over the mountains to light up the fjords. On the drive back to Aurland I briefly shared the road with a tribe of goats.

We then drove from Aurland to Kinsarvik, stopping to eat chicken sandwiches at your average Norweigan rest stop featuring a raging blue river, mountains, waterfalls and trees. Vanessa clambered down to put her feet in the water which I was not brave or motivated enough to do.

The rest of the drive featured many tunnels - one with a roundabout in it - and a cool bridge. We also stopped at Circle K for coffee and a bolle.

Kinsarvik is a small town on a big fjord. We ate an early dinner of more chicken and salad from the local Spar, then drove up the hill to follow a trail along a gushing river.

At the base of a massive waterfall was a power-plant. We followed the pipe up to the top, taking in a second waterfall and even more trees, rocks, and water.

After returning back to the car and hotel, some 20,000 steps stepped and many of them over unstable rocks, we needed more fuel and so we devoured an ice-cream log cake.

WINTER
The Stegastein Viewpoint. 5° air temperature. Sun slowly descending over the cliffs rising up from the Nærøyfjord. Numb fingers trying to spoon fruit and nut muesli into my mouth. Windproof jacket, fingerless gloves, pants, woollen socks.

SPRING
The Flåm Valley so green and saturated that it looks Photoshopped. Walking the route of the railway. Tulips growing on the side of the road. The sun warm on the face, but breeze bringing pollen and a slight chill on the return to the fjord. Shorts, hiking boots, pullover, hat and sunglasses.

SUMMER
Post-nap fresh strawberries and yoghurt on the patio in Aurland. Water shimmering reflecting the clearest of skies. Shorts, tshirt, bare feet on the grass to take in the view.

AUTUMN
What it is at my house. I took this photo of a red tree to round out this post.

In My Ridleyton Era.
In my covid era.
In my mulberry tree era.
My cycling era. My air-fryer era.
My upper limb surgery era.
My no mortgage lifestyle era.
My friends all having kids era.
My fresh baguette from the shops that morning era.
My savvy and not so savvy investing era.
In my meat puffs era. My New Holland Honeyeater era.
My watching Nash grow old era.
My integration architecture era.
In my working and working out from home era.
My local cafe knows me and my dog's order era.
In my noticing how bad the cold is in winter era.
In my driving twenty minutes to the beach nearly every second summer evening era.
Out of my Ridleyton era.

Another year of enriching family traditions.

A collection of cameraphone photos from Summer 24-25.

A little strawberry left over from spring.

Blooming agapanthus on a morning stroll through North Adelaide.

Golden Hour at the beach.

Red hot chilies for a red hot summer day.

Up before the sun on another hot morning.

Nash doing her best Jaws impression with one of her takeaway sausage rolls during the Christmas bakery shut down.

Road trip wind turbines.

Family moments near mountains.

Victorian high country.

Not rain, sprinklers.

Up early for cheap fruit and vegetables.

Another day drifting closer to the sun.

Nash enjoys sunbaking.

Frangipani

Sand snail eggs reflecting the hot sun's fading light.

A joyous moment on a cafe visit before work and heat.

On January 25th on our traditional morning walk to the markets my ankle swelled up so badly I could barely limp back home. It recovered a little with ice and rest, enough that I could get in a legless workout before going to an open house. We decided to make an offer for the house. The next morning I woke up at 4:40am for a road trip to Merrijig.

Every day since then has felt like a hurtling drive with stops only for coffee (it's okay Alex) and every night feels like I woke at 4:40am that morning.

We bought a new house, and then decided to sell our old one. I've dedicated days to spreadsheets, cleaning, furniture, finances, work and inopportune holiday plans. My ankle has been pretty sore most of that time. I thought I had gout so I gave up beer. Then when that didn't help I gave up beer and dairy. I spent over a week without a proper smoothie, coffee, thing of yoghurt. What a terrible way to live. Anyway when the MRI came back as ligament damage and arthritis at least I could drink a beer again.

I also spent a week living without carpet. I also was the one who ripped up our old carpets. I just put on Triple M's greatest hits, and lucky I was back on dairy because I also had an ice coffee, and I just cut into it and pulled it up. I had a new knife, plus gloves and a dust mask from big box hardware. One of many trips to there this month.

Carpet is such a fragile thing. It's in your life in your house and you never once think about what's under it and then a few slices of the knife and you roll it up into a roll and gaff it together and it's gone. Houses in general are stupid things. I've felt this way for so long. All you really want is shelter from the sun and if rain exists, the rain, and warmth, and high speed internet. Why do we need cornices and grout and matching coloured cabinets. I've spent so many hours cleaning things since Merrijig that I didn't shave for a week because I couldn't get my hand clean enough to touch my face.

And the dryness is relentless. Now we don't even have upstairs curtains. Heat, clean, work, sleep, repeat. I also haven't been to the gym for nearly two weeks. Although our storage unit is on the second floor of the storage building, so I have done many rounds of storage cardio. I've lost 3 kilograms since January. Maybe from storage cardio, maybe from abstaining from beer and dairy.

Tonight, finally, the house was ready for photos. The new carpet was laid. The terrible paint job was concealed. All the new furniture was arranged and Vanessa had them styled with cushions and books. The floors were mopped, windows wiped, the back courtyard pressure washed, the garden pruned, the front door washed, the new rug vacuumed, the bed sheets ironed, the shower screens scrubbed, the cardboard boxes cut up, the crevices dusted. The photographer admired the pizza oven, took the sunset shot, and it was done. Finally, tomorrow can be a day to breathe. The last thing I cleaned was myself. And I shaved.

I took a walk this morning with Vanessa and Nash. We bought coffee from the cafe across the road and drank it on the walk home for our 8:30 meetings. I tilted my head back right before the last corner so I could swallow the final taste of flat white, and I really liked the look of the clouds.