Max Olijnyk

This is a companion piece to My mum went to EMB – written by my mum, Sarah.

I was just a few months into being forty. In those days, that was middle age—when we felt that time was slipping away and it was time to have a go. My three children were aged eight, ten and fifteen; their dad could take long service leave and my casual work wouldn’t miss me, so I planned an around-the-world trip. I had been doing catering and working at a couple of jobs to earn the money.

The plan was to go to Canada to see my uncle and cousins, who had emigrated there just before my mum and dad had done the same thing to Adelaide in 1960. My mum had always spoken so fondly of Uncle Bert so that was stop one. To get there, my ticket took me from LA and then on to Toronto. One of the two fake didgeridoos was for them.

I can only guess that Max, on hearing my trip details, had asked if I could add on the leg to EMB because I had no desire to visit San Francisco and the place was daunting. Anyway, I thought I could manage and put it in the plan.

The plan included the arrangements for the flight itself. Clothing – navy blue pyjamas in a sort of textured, breathable fabric that I imagined looked like a tracksuit; and two didgeridoos wrapped in brown paper and packing tape, carried as hand luggage. Nobody said anything, we all carried stuff into the cabin because you could see what happened to luggage that went into the hold. So I was comfortable yet stylish and had a fine trip. I even got bumped up to first class for the leg to San Francisco, so say what you want about my pyjamas.

I had booked into youth hostels wherever I could and this one was hair raising. A shared room with a woman who apologised for coughing through the night because she had AIDS and a man who sat on top of the washing machine at night, staring straight at me. When I asked about him it turned out he had no eyelids!

San Francisco was a gripping exposure to another life for a middle-aged country woman, but I was always safe, even though I felt terrified most of the time. The man on the bus who I asked about ATM’s—this was my first use of one—firmly directed me away from the one that my map said was close and told me to not even get off at that stop.

At Embarcadero I felt I had reached a goal set by Max, for whom I would do anything. It was a familiar cityscape to someone who had grown up in Adelaide, where at the time there were interesting areas filled with concrete blocks and sculpture. So, I saw a couple of boys skating and thought that would make even more interesting pictures for Max than just the architecture. With my new camera in hand, I approached them and as you might have read, they spat at me but I had kids and that was not a problem after sleeping with coughing, dying ladies and eyelidless men.

I must have told them about my gorgeous boy. I know I asked if I could photograph them. Their response was to take my camera. That was a bit challenging. Then they kindly did their best tricks and returned the camera. I felt that we parted amicably. I set off on my next leg to Toronto and the delivery of my first didgeridoo.

All I want to know now is where the hell those photos have gone, because I have looked everywhere.

My mum went to EMB is available from Heavytime and The Palomino