The Blue Mountains Diaries - a Sunday in Springwood

I had woken up late to a cloudy Sunday, and given the last pangs of wintry cold that had gripped Sydney, I was wondering if a drive up the Blue Mountains – colder still – would be worth the effort. Nonetheless, we packed into our car and made a move up the Western Motorway, the Blue Mountains looking hazy in a sleepy Sunday stupor in the horizon. I guess, once you make a move on a journey, sun or cloud doesn’t matter – the excitement of a journey helps a lot in outweighing the moodiness of mind and mother nature.

I have been a lifelong Orophile – a lover of mountains – and have had the privilege of traipsing across many towns, primarily in the Himalaya, but also in the Alps and the Southern Alps. Travelling today, gazing at the Blue Mountains reminded me of those experiences, seeing the mountains arise in the horizon, be it NH1 from Delhi to Shimla or the Hill Cart Road leading to Darjeeling. The Blue Mountains are not that expansive, yet contain a universe of wonders within, earning itself a UNESCO World Heritage tag, while being right next door to Sydney. You take what you get and revel in its beauty. I smiled at my philosophy and voila, the sun had come up, clearing the clouds to bathe the world in sheer Sunday brilliance, as if justifying my earlier decision to make a move.

We crossed the Nepean River – a riparian boundary marking the beginning of the ascent to the Blue Mountains. One by one, the sonorously named towns of Lapstone, Glenbrook, Blaxland and Valley Heights passed by as we headed towards our destination – Springwood. Legends have it that this beautiful town was named by Governor Macquarie in 1815 when he and his wife had stopped here by a spring in a glen to collect water. We had come to visit the Springwood Growers Market – one of many weekend markets strewn along the Blue Mountains but very efficiently categorised and dated – last Sunday of the month belonged to Springwood (third Saturday goes to Glenbrook, third Sunday for Lawson, and so on). In short, if you are visiting the Blue Mountains on the weekend, it is very likely there is a market somewhere between Lapstone and Lithgow!

 Not just Syndey-siders, there is a strong community support in these markets – with locals turning up at these markets in large numbers. We added to those numbers and as always, I found it to be a lovely experience. Springwood’s markets is not as large as Glenbrook or Lawson’s, but it is equally quaint, picturesque and full of artistic vibes that are so microcosmic of these towns in the mountains. Live soulful music, smell of freshly baked food, stall owners in enthusiastic discussions with the visitors and a lot of footfall, with people still being super-courteous to make way for others to move smilingly, reminding of the delights of these little things that are often pronounced in these small towns rather than big cities.

 I walked up to a stall selling beautifully made brooches and lockets – there were dragons, unicorns, fairies and a host of other mythical creatures that were crafted exquisitely in various bright colours and glittered with shining jewels in the now-steady and bright sun.

 ‘Are these locally made?’ I asked. I have found the Blue Mountains to be sought after by artists who find natural inspiration from the exceptional beauty and proximity to nature – undulating valleys swathed in eucalyptus forests, hidden waterfalls in secret glens, rhododendron gardens and azalea groves and mile after mile of beguiling bushwalks – these mountains as a muse, who wouldn’t turn an artist with so much inspiration?

But the stall owner gave me a smile and a shake of her head, ‘No not local, though its does support a few families who manage the supply-chain.’ She easily saw the disappointment in my eyes and went on to explain, ‘It will be impossible to offer these prices if locally made. The cost of material and then labour would hike the prices, which would be so uncompetitive when compared to the same stuff hauled in from overseas.’

I nodded. It was a story too common – how many times have we not heard of this before. Yet, as an artist myself, I reminded that art is art, and should know no boundaries. The works were evocative and exquisite, and it mattered not if the hands were making magic in Sydney or Saigon. I picked up a beautiful turquoise dragon and headed over to the next few stalls. It was an absolute celebration of multiculturalism - Vintage Australian artistic prints, Jordanian sand coffee, Tibetan momos, Indian Butter chicken, Italian olive oil, Sri Lankan tea – what more could you ask for?

After a few stalls, however, I found the answer to my earlier question – I met Linda Aubrecht, local artist who was selling her watercolour works inspired by the flora and fauna of these mountains. Cerulean coloured cicadas, bejewelled Christmas beetles, monarch butterflies, Superb and Splendid Fairy wrens (justifying the adjectives in their monikers) and wombats and sugar gliders peeped out of bookmarks, greeting cards, jewellery and resin art from all around the stall. Locally made, the products were of an exceptional quality. I complimented here works profusely, and after feeling the thick texture of some bookmarks I purchased, I asked, ‘Where do you get these printed?’ 

‘I do it myself,’ Linda smiled, ‘I tried using a vendor but the quality always felt sub-standard, so I bought my own printer and paper and get these sorted myself. The expenses are slowly getting covered, so am not complaining.’ Having to manage the content, design and publication of my own books, I felt I understood some of the immensity of her work. Art and commerce, always such a tough duo to master, but at least here were pioneers who were taking steps, no matter how small, in an otherwise long journey of constant sacrifice, dedication and commitment. Not to add inspiration, but I guessed that was one space where the surrounding mountains were able to provide heartily to those who sought.

A few baklavas later, I marvelled at the grevillea and lavenders in bloom at a mini-nursey and decided to move out onto the town. My destination was the Turning Page Bookshop. I was completing what was the Blue Mountains Bookshop Trail – a dozen super-quaint bookstores strewn across the Mountains and filled not just with books, but oodles of charm, cosiness, repose and of course, bibliophila. It started in Blackheath a few fortnights ago, when I had stepped into Gleebooks – a sanctuary of brilliantly maintained used books, in a cosy corner of the town centre offering warmth and the smell of musty books in a cold winter morning. The owner shared an eclectic map of all the bookstores on the Bookshop trail and ever since, I have been trying to tick them all. 

I had been to Rosey Ravelston Books in Lawson (And had suggested another bibliophile friend to hire the entire bookstore for a date night with dinner – which was such an awesome idea from a bookshop!), and the week earlier I was at Blue Dragons in Glenbrook.

I had a good conversation with the owner who was delighted at my attempt to come over from Sydney on weekends to cover the Bookshop trail. ‘We all stick together – after all, there are not many readers across all the townships in the Blue Mountains, and we are over 10 bookstores - so we all try to come together and yet create our unique space.’

Were readers decreasing in numbers, in this new age of Kindle and podcasts?

‘Not really, there are ups and downs, but there is still a very healthy demand of books, used and new. We are completing 40 years here – 5 owners and three locations around Springwood, but it looks good; then there are children’s books – an iPad can never replace the tactile nature of reading a book. And then, there are patrons like you who bother coming from far to visit us.’

The lady behind me, carrying a toddler in a pram, joined in, ‘You cannot replace books, never – you should have seen the pile of books I received in my baby-shower, instead of me being lavished with gifts for myself,’ she guffawed.

 Books in safe hands, I smiled, and took my leave with a brown package and a small volume on historical stories of these mountains (research material as I prepare for my next publication – yes, guessed correctly, on the Blue Mountains!).

But I realised Springwood was not over yet – there was one more bookstore, the Book Lounge, that was closed on Sundays. Well, another excuse to come over on another day to these beautiful mountains, whatever be the weather – as a wise man once said, sun or cloud doesn’t matter – the excitement of a journey helps a lot in outweighing the moodiness of the mind 😉

 

24^th September, 2023