THE FAMILY HOLIDAY

Away from prying lenses

I left my West Australian shore one more time this year...

heading towards the sun to the exotic Eastern part of the world

I met Fred, his wife and Olivia in one of the Bangkok's beautiful parks under the heavily scented tree...

While Fred has already started to admire the local beauties

his wife found it difficult to breathe in crowded places...

overhelmed by coulours, noise, smell and heat...

Olivia took my hand excitedly so eager to see and explore the far away places...

She has already found a friend in a hotel to muck around...

when mum called on her to put the shoes on and settle down, we are all going to visit a Buddhist temple...I invited them to see the ordinary families....

We were waiting in a queue to go into a temple, nto a qeue of tourists but mostly of the Buddhist faithful...

there to make their prayers and practise their beliefs in private, with just us mingled in.

Among the hundreds of them was a mother and a little girl. She was very pretty.

Fred, two big digital SLR cameras hung around his neck came up close to the little girl and started photographing her.

Her mother waved her hand at him, politely, signalling "no", the girl looked away.

He ignored this and carried on, the little girl trying to bury her face in the crook of her mother's arm.

Fred reached forward, took her under the chin and turned her to look out again, at him. At which the mother covered her daughter's face.

Fred pulled the mother's hand out of the way and tried to carry on. His wife took another camera and joined him.

Suddenly I couldn't stand it any more and hid them behind my back. Olivia followed me and took the little girl by her hand.

Fred and his wife turned away dissapointed: "We just wanted to take a picture, what's wrong with that?"

Photography can be intrusive

are we acutely aware of this?

While spending our hard earn money

to enjoy the sea and the sun

of far away exotic lands.

"It is so good to be home,"

I sqeezed the leathery hand

of my sea-faring uncle,

over 60 years old captain Tom.

He eased his 33 m

350-tonne vessel from the wharf

and we watched from his cabin

a big crowd waving

to the passengers on board.

As we headed from the harbour

at Makarska

leaving

the bustling popular tourist town

dwarfed by the mighty Biokovo mountains

behind

Tom smiled broadly at me:

"Do you remember our fishing trip together

when you have been seven or eight

coming to spend with us your summer holiday?"

"Of course, I do, my best times ever,

but no more fishing for you now,"

I laughed pointing around the decks

where relaxed passengers

were sipping the complementary drink of rakija.

"We still fish the open seas in winter,"

Tom winked at me:

"You don't have to plough the ocean,

You only have to take care of it

and it always give."

"But tourists give more,"

His son in law from Germany

entered the cabin and shook my hand:

"Welcome, I heard so much about you,

you are just like daughter to him,

so we are officially family,

Fred is my name."

Tom spent 20 years working in Germany

to raise capital to go into business

had paid off

His boat can take 280 passengers

on this day

there were 260 on board

on its return to harbour

it became a nightly seafood

restaurant

serving up many of the 10 species

caught in the winter

including squid and prawns.

It was party disco time,

the sparkling night

at the rear of the vessel

chefs busy grilling fish

its delicious smell drifting

over the dark waters

of pristine Adriatic.

"This was my idea,"

Fred proudly

lifted his glass of white wine,

"To Tom and his successful 2012 tourist year."

"One day it will be yours,"

Tom proudly lifted up

his five year old grandaughter Olivia

who joined us with her mother

for family dinner.

Suddenly someone waved at me

from the noisy and crowded tables

further at the deck.

My friend Lisa from Perth

ran to me and gave me a big hug:

"What are you doing here?"

I asked surprised.

"My hubby comes from Korcula,

didn't you know that island

is the spiritual home

of thousands of West Australians?"

She laughed and then turned to Tom,

"Do you mind, captain if I take a picture of you

and your beautiful girl?"

Tom stood up proudly

while Olivia snatched his captain's hat

and made a cute pose

but Fred rushed to Lisa

and took the camera from her hand:

"Hang on, this is my daughter

you want to take a picture of,

I don't even know you, what for?"

"Just for a keepsake to remember

this great boat and this holiday,"

Lisa suddently turned red

and backed off

full of appologies

when Fred handed the camera back,

"It's okey Lisa, we just prefer for tourists

to respect our privacy."

Tom patted my hand

when I came back from Lisa's table:

"Fred is a good bloke, just too German,

they are very proud of who they are,

do not take it personally."

When Dalmatian folk music

I have known from childhood

filled our ears

and brought Tom and me

to emotional tears

I hugged him tightly:

"I would love you to come

to visit me."

He smiled through his tears:

"Captains do not take holidays,

I just catch sleep on board

when I can,

but Olivia with her parents

go to Thailand in two weeks

maybe you could all meet there."

On my last day

Tom sailed very close

to parts of Brac

where the harsh,

rugged

rocky hilly

shoreline

reminded me of the place

where I live now.

"Many of them went to Australia as well,"

Tom said pointing at the crumbling buildings

among the small pockets

of fertile soils

created by moving rocks by hand.

I looked at the extremely difficult terrain

from which local people

for centuries

desperately tried to make a living.

"Do you remember when we helped

to build a stone cottage up there

for my brother, Ivan,

he is long dead, poor fellow,"

Tom suddently said

watching a man on a small boat

carrying the building material

the only access is still

only by sea.

I had tears in my eyes

when I said goodbye

to the captain of my heart

and the man

of old fashioned values

and integrity.

We pay so much

for the comfortable life we live in

we expect so much

and we are so ready

to take and take and take...

but how much

are we ready to give away?