Constructed in 1881 close to the point where the Hawkesbury River meets the ocean, the sandstone lighthouse still remains in operation today, although it has been automated since 1992. It can be accessed by foot via the ‘Smugglers Track’, named so as the location was a popular for said activity in the early 19th century, up until a customs station was constructed in 1843. Currently, the spinning beam of 75,000 candlepower can be seen around 35km out to sea.

Here are some photos I took of my afternoon exploring Barrenjoey Lighthouse and the superb surrounding scenery. If you’re ever in the area, it’s totally worth spending some time up there yourself!

The lighthouse from the northern end of Palm Beach

Through the trees

The sand and cliffs of North Palm Beach from the Smugglers Track

Getting closer

The lighthouse

Against the glorious blue sky

Barrenjoey jet stream

There used to be two other lighthouses at the site; one was converted into a sundial after deconstruction

Palm Beach to the left and the calmer Barrenjoey Beach to the right, from the top of the service track

Please check out her blog, where you can see the lyrics as well as some notes on what inspired her to write the translation. She plans on posting more Polish translations of popular English songs in the future – I’m particularly looking forward to seeing how she translates the songs by her hero Bryan Adams

Her translation as well as the original lyrics are below, and you can listen to the song (the English version, that is!) at the bottom.

Thanks Danuta!

Walczac
(© 2011 Danuta Muszynska)

Walka trwa – nieba w sercu z pieklem, ktore widza oczy twe
ogien zgasl – blizne zostawil, leku pragniesz dla duszy jej
i zaprzeczasz – choc sam dzwigasz ciezar ten – odwrocic chcesz los
czysta milosc odzyskac chcesz, ktora dawno ukradlo cos

wytrwale
i przez lzy
ciagle uczysz sie

Czy kolejna godzine spedzisz walac wciaz glowa w ten gruby mur
Czy wolania ktos wyslucha czy uslyszysz gluchy, zimny szum
walczysz – czy zostaniesz, czy porzucisz niebo w sercu-pieklo tu
- jej chlodna cisze i Twoje lzy – dodajac koszmar do jej snow?

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zalezy ci

Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zale?y ci
Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zalezy ci
Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zalezy ci

The Fighter
(© 2010 Dan Schaumann)

Oh the fighter with his heaven in his heart and his hell to behold
His desire is to remedy the scar of the flame to her soul
Oh denier with the heaviness imparted he dreams he could change
Cruel reminders of the innocence of love vs the means to remain

Persevere
Through your tears
Learn your lesson well

Oh the hour, will it speed or will it burn with a laboured old fuse
Not an answer to the plead, a deafly ear and a reason to lose
Oh the fighter will he stay or will he stray far away from his means
All the while through her silence and his tears he will conquer with the thrill of her nightmares

Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter

Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter

Oh the fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares
The fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares

Oh the fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares
The fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares

The Fighter:

* The Fighter can be found on Dan’s album, A Thousand Days Beneath The Sun, available now on CD and iTunes.

I was at my parents property in north Queensland, standing by the shed to the right of our house if facing from the back yard. Towards the rear peak of the shed was a small hole in the corrugated iron, and through this hole flew an endless stream of flies. Not the annoying little domestic flies you may see stalking the cake crumbs on the kitchen bench that you forgot to clean away – I’m talking massive, monstrous blowflies that you could imagine feeding off wild buffalo carcass in the 45° outback heat. They were the size of bumblebees, and heavy to the point that their overworked wings were having difficulty keeping their bodies afloat in the air.

There would have been thousands of them, possibly even tens of thousands, all appearing out of nowhere from this hole and flying in a relatively straight line towards our house. I followed them for a hundred metres until I arrived at our carport, just to the right of the garage, where I was faced with a scene that any arachnophobe would rather select suicide over. Instead of a car, the area the blowflies were flying right into was full to the brim of thick white spider webs, complete with countless enormous and excited arachnids of all colours and types, their labyrinth of adhesive mesh bringing the journey of the poor flying insects to an abrupt end. Among others, I recognised tarantulas, golden orbs, redbacks, huntsmen, funnel webs, wolf spiders and birdeaters. God knows what else was there.

The spiders would pounce on the flies the very second they found themselves entangled. I could see their fanglike chelicerae penetrate the outer skeleton of every one of the blowflies, the venemous injection killing them on the spot, before cocooning them with their neverending stream of silk to keep them fresh for use as a future meal.

I stood there for a few minutes taking in this scene before me. The combination of spiders, web and blowflies eventually became so thick that I couldn’t see out the other end of the normally car-filled space any longer. It was then that I noticed a strange crawling sensation on my face, as if there was a pitter-patter of tiny feet beginning around my lips and meandering toward my neck. I placed my hand on my face and quickly retracted once I realised tiny, baby spiders were populating my palms. My mouth opened, and out of it vomited a black stream of these diminutive creatures. They had used my stomach as a breeding ground and were now escaping into the world, ready to grow and wreak havoc on any blowfly unlucky enough to cross its path.

And then I died.

* * *

It’s a good thing I’m not scared of spiders huh?

It’s strange to explain, but whenever a new goal or ambition enters my heart, I have this deep knowing that the universe will obligingly set everything in place to allow me to fulfil this dream, and that nobody and nothing will hinder me from reaching my destination.

I often notice little ‘synchronicities’ around me when I have one of these goals in focus.

They’re like perfect signs from an external force, greater than I could ever imagine. They encourage me to pursue this path I’m on.

I’ve never had reason to believe I won’t reach the place I want to be.

I know with all my soul that I’ll get there.

And so it has occurred three times so far along this journey of life that I’ve put my full assurance into a particular path being the right one for me to follow.

Each of those three times, there was never a plan B.

There was never a thought put into what might occur if it doesn’t work out.

There was never a hint of doubt, contention, or fear.

There was only ever 100% faith that this path is the right one for me.

Each of those three times, I was just within reach of my destination.

I could see it, I could taste it, I could feel it.

Until reality stepped in the way and obliterated every last one of my hopes and dreams.

It hurts.

It really fucking hurts.

Yet I still go on and repeat the same faithful way of feeling, time and time again.

* * *

Many years ago, I was told that I should give up on faith.

Because with faith comes heartbreak.

With faith comes pain.

With faith comes frustration.

With faith comes inevitable failure.

Give up on faith, and you remain free from hurt.

Success comes as a bonus if you have no expectation.

So just give up.

But you know what I say to that?

No.

* * *

I will never give up on faith.

For without faith, there is no hope.

Without faith, there is no excitement in what is next to come.

Without faith, there is no love.

Without faith, there is no life.

Faith makes me stronger, it’s shaped my life and it makes me who I am.

It’s opened up new opportunities and has taken me to places I may never have otherwise considered.

Despite the pain in my heart from the times I’ve been let down, faith has had an exponential effect on me and I feel nothing but joy and gratitude for coming to this realisation.

It’s an incredible thing to feel.

I pledge that everything I put my heart into from this moment onwards will be accomplished with the utmost of faith.

And I encourage you to do the same.

Know that there is no such thing as failure.

And have faith.

♥

We climbed
Hundreds of stairs we climbed to the top
It’s only from the top that you can fall
And boy, did I fall

Time and distance have this strange way of augmenting reality
I didn’t understand what reality entailed
Until this day

I realised I had only one chance
One single chance in my whole entire life
To ask you the question:

“Is it ok for me to have faith and hold onto this dream, or is it best to let it go and move on?”

I didn’t need to ask to find the answer

As I sit alone in this cold room, all hope of ever feeling those three words has drained from me

Wherever life takes you, please just know there’s somebody out there who does.

x

The hallway light creeps underneath the closed door and coats a small portion of the otherwise dark carpet with an amber tincture. She traces the glowing contour with her eye from one end to the other and back again. It’s the only thing she sees in this vague world.

The cries from her newborn she no longer perceives. Although aware that the weeping exists, her ears concede and filters it out, leaving nought but the deafening silence of an empty space. Before too long, she feels the consequence of her own cries trickle along her cheek, obliviously wailing in near-perfect unison with her hungry daughter.

She knew he was trouble from the moment she met him. But there was something so appealing about his harsh charisma that she fell blind to his faults. Many of her friends warned her against him, yet she chose to look outside their subjective viewpoints. She so desperately wanted the bad boy.

When she was with him she felt like she was the only woman in the world; the single source of seduction for his prevailing heart. He held her close and whispered her promises she’d only ever dreamed of hearing. She accepted every one of his idealistic words, and in return offered him her soul.

He took her soul. It remains with him to this day.

Seven months after she first shared the news with him, she wonders what she ever did to deserve this outcome. Her pleads for him to return have fallen unnoticed. The endless attempts to contact him have left her with an infinite ache deep within her being. The stories she hears of his forays with other women leaves her nauseous and vulnerable. The guilt-laden memories of the past offer little hope for the future. Tonight, and for the rest of her life as far as her heart is concerned, she remains alone and together with her tiny bundle of joy. The only thing that keeps her going.

As her child’s weeping falls to a dull whimper, so does the sound of her own sobs. Not wishing to unsettle the baby, she fires a piercing scream from her heart to the universe one last time, demanding to know when her stolen spirit will be restored.

Little does she realise, her prayers had already been heard loud and clear.

He was the one who encouraged her to pursue her newfound flame all those months ago, even though he secretly wished for her to be his warmth all along.

He was the one who took her out for coffee when he thought that she could do with a friend to talk to.

He was the one who gave her the little gifts whenever they met to help take her mind off the pain.

He was the one who offered those small words of encouragement when she needed it the most.

He was the one who supported her pregnancy and inspired her to go through with it.

He was the one who reassured her not to give in.

He was the one who made her laugh.

He was the one she least expected.

He was the one who could save her.

Sometimes you need to look within to find the love that you truly deserve.

I connect with these words so much.

Believe in yourself <3

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NfxagDq4NkU

It’s central yet secluded, quiet yet free from dreariness, clean, colourful, scenic, friendly, and altogether just plain awesome.

Today, I’ve been inspired to write this blog post about my beloved locality. Firstly, my tribute to the gorgeous Lady Gowrie Lookout, and secondly, some snaps I took at this afternoon’s open day at Admiralty House (the official Sydney residence of the Governor General of Australia) and Kirribilli House (the official Sydney residence of the Prime Minister of Australia).

Lady Gowrie Lookout

Not long after I moved to area, I went for an afternoon walk past the two Government residences, and ended up at the bottom of a neighbouring lookout named after Lady Gowrie, the wife of the 10th Australian Governor General.

It was there that I noticed a heartfelt couple of lines painted onto the rocks, just a few metres from the shimmering waters edge:

Where else in the world could you get away with emblazoning your love for all to see on the outer walls of the Prime Minister’s residence? James & Georgie’s tale inspired me, and together with my penchant for songs about Australian locations, I couldn’t help but write one about it.

This is a video I made recently to accompany the tune, featuring scenes from around Kirribilli and the lookout itself. It’s even a finalist in this years SydneyVision song contest! I hope you like it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEbw_7CWn78

(if you happen to know who James & Georgie are, please let them know somebody has written a song about them!)

Admiralty & Kirribilli House Open Day

I was up fairly early this morning and went for a stroll toward the lookout, to sit at the park bench overlooking the harbour and read the paper. I noticed a number of people were queuing up outside the gates of Admiralty House, and it soon dawned on me that today was the annual open day, put on by the Australiana Fund.

I collected my camera from home and returned to the open day where I spent a good part of the morning exploring the normally-concealed gardens. Unfortunately photography wasn’t allowed inside either of the houses, but there was still plenty to capture outside their walls.

After two years of wondering what lay behind the heavily-secured boundaries, this is some of what I had the pleasure of seeing today:

The Harbour Bridge from the rear of Admiralty House

Admiralty House

The Governor General has the most perfect view

Nothing more Aussie than an Admiralty House sausage sizzle

An Opera House flower

Fort Denison in the background

Peeking at the giant sails through the garden

Passing ferry

Admiralty House garden bed

Picnicking on the lawns behind Admiralty House

Prime Ministerial lemons

The queue leading into Admiralty House

A bridge-inspired view of the queue

Rock fountain not far from the Admiralty House entrance

A little ray of sunshine

Prime Ministerial swimming pool

The ever-charming Kirribilli House

Kirribilli House garden bed

The lawns at the rear of Kirribilli House

Thank heavens for open days

The very Aussie southern cross on the Kirribilli House outer gates

Isn’t Kirribilli beautiful?

Oblivious to the jubilant crowd, she singles out the silence of her deafening mind over the unheard voices of those surrounding her.

Her disheartened figure slumps over the table, the sharp edge of the timber cutting deep into her elbows as her left hand grips her sunken chin. Slowly she stirs through the contents of her bowl and raises her right hand toward her mouth, the bronze mixture within her half-full spoon emptying into a cacophonic pit. Extensively chewing upon the tasteless fibres, her eyes fixate blankly somwehere between the cold cutlery and the empty seat at the opposite end of the table.

As the mouthful sinks to the bottom of her stomach, she feels sickliness rather than sustenance. She later regrets her choice of meal.

Like the song that jolts an unwanted memory of spirited times, she knows this massaman will be her last.

Walking hastily toward home following a lengthy and laborious day, his peripheral vision catches the briefest glimpse of her through the dining house window. He slows for a moment and savours the scene before him.

The spicy odour of massaman infects his senses. His lungs draw heavy breaths, choosing to perceive the aromatic restaurant atmosphere as warm and appetising.

Over the jubilant crowd, his line of sight falls directly to the lone soul devouring her meal in silence, oblivious to he who is observing.

Her alluring figure leans slightly over the table, resting her elbows on the timber as her left hand yeilds support to her delicate silhouette. His eyes fixate on her right hand which tightly grasps the spoon, eventually meeting with her picture perfect lips. He spares a few more moments taking in this beauty and yearns for a break in her flawless concentration, patiently hoping that she raises her eyes just for one second and notices his affectionate glance. If only he was filling the seat at the opposite end of the table.

As she nears the end of her mouthful, he surrenders to his wishfulness and opts to move on. This abrupt one-way encounter offers a lovesick sensation at the bottom of his stomach, yet it also provides enough sustenance to inspire his continuing quest. He later regrets his choice to move on.

Like the song that jolts a welcome memory of spirited times, he will never forget that enchanting scent of massaman.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eps41fISt7Y

The Place Where I Once Was
(© 2011 Dan Schaumann)

The first time
I got there well I painted pictures with my fingers
Deep into the softness of your skin

And that line
I drew, well did you trace it, did you comprehend
The meaning of the shape I’d plant within

The first time
I got there well I took your hand, I savoured every
Moment it was held inside of mine

I’m grateful but there’s still so much I need to learn
Of how to pencil in an uphill climb

And I wonder
Was this life made up for falling
Or was it designed for crawling to the place where I once was

And I wonder
If it was designed for crawling
Well it sure is prone to failing to protect me from myself

The first time
I got there well I never wished for anything
To stall me or distract me from this world

But I’m blind
I never put the thought into the way I should
Continue with the picture, and now I hate myself for that

And I wonder
Was this life made up for falling
Or was it designed for crawling to the place where I once was

And I wonder
If it was designed for crawling
Well it sure is prone to failing to protect me from myself

In the place where I once was

How do I get back to the place
The place where I belong
How do I get back to the place
The place where I once was

And I wonder
Was this life made up for falling
Or was it designed for crawling to the place where I once was

And I wonder
If it was designed for crawling
Well it sure is prone to failing to protect me from myself

In the place where I once was