Jellyfish & Jacarandas

Summer officially began on December 1st, though Melbourne eased into it slowly. 

 

The purple jacarandas peaked mid-month.

 

The ongoing jellyfish bloom has made ocean swimming a challenge for me. Lion's mane and blubber jellies deliver relatively mild stings, though the larger ones are still intimidating to encounter in the water. Blue bottles are another story—more painful and harder to avoid. Floating on the surface with a little sail, they're driven almost entirely by the wind. Offshore winds push them away from the coast, which is why beaches are often clearer after northerlies. If you are stung, skip the vinegar: rinse with seawater, then treat with hot water.

 

A 6-km training swim on the Mornington Peninsula was good fun, but we are all hoping for better conditions in the new year.

The end of year is a busy time at work, so Tom and I penciled in a couple nights out. We joined friends Nadia and Ryan for a candlelight ballet at Collingwood Town Hall, where a string quartet performed Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, and The Nutcracker. 

 

The following weekend, we went to see The Nutcracker ballet at Princess Theatre with Jorge and Katya.

On the summer solstice, the sun reached its highest point in the sky, with nearly 15 hours of daylight. From this moment, the light has already begun its slow turn back. Like many changes in life, it is almost imperceptible at first. In time, we begin to notice. 

Across the world, this day has long been honored as a time of strength and fullness. In mythology, the sun stands at its most powerful before beginning its gradual descent—a reminder that abundance always carries change within it.

 

A swim mate reminded me that this is the perfect time to acknowledge the year so far: what has grown, what has come to fruition, and what is ready to change. The solstice is a quiet pivot—a moment to pause at the height of flight and make space for awareness, gratitude, and the natural rhythm of change.

Victoria State Rose Garden

Melburnians have just endured their coldest spring in 30 years! Unseasonably wet, cool, and grey, yet still with long days and high UV. 

 

A month after Tom and I moved into our new rental, the owner hired a contractor to replace the urine-stained floorboards in the living area. We moved all the furniture into the bedroom and office, barricaded the cats in, and I worked from the library for the day.

When I came home, I discovered they’d only replaced about half of the stained boards. I was devastated. The house smelled of freshly sanded and sealed timber, so I couldn’t tell whether the dog odor underneath was still lingering. In a mild panic, I began dousing the remaining stains with enzyme cleaner and bought a couple of air purifiers—both have helped.

It feels good to finally settle in, but it's hard to accept that the house may never feel properly clean to me. And the way the property manager handled the situation was completely unprofessional.  

Unforunately, the whole saga has cast a long shadow over our move. I miss the old house and neighborhood—the pool, the easy grocery runs, the vibe. Everything feels further away now that we’re deeper into the suburbs.

 

Friends and family have encouraged me to remember why we moved and focus on what we like: being able to walk to the beach, the wide streets, the reduced traffic, the novelty of exploring a new area. And apart from the urine situation, the house is perfect.

Outside of work, I've started training for two swim events in February.

I've been swimming at Carnegie pool a couple times a week, plus ocean sessions with the SwimWell squad and the Seagals—a welcoming group of mostly older women who swim at Elwood and Brighton beaches.

I'm learning that storm runoff after poor weather reduces the water quality. It’s not great for swimming (it's dirty and visibility drops), and it also attracts jellyfish—mainly lion’s mane and blubber (stinging but non-lethal). Apparently they haven’t been bad the past two years, so this is new to me. And yes, I’m still in a wetsuit in December. A very different season from last year!

On a brighter note, I took myself to the Victoria State Rose Garden. 

 

Melbourne's roses typically bloom from October to May, with big flushes in November and March.

 
 

I was also excited for jacaranda season. These purple canopies can be found throughout the city, but I found quite a few in Albert Park—easily my new favorite neighborhood!

  

 

Doctors For Nutrition

The weekend after we moved—second weekend of November—I escaped the nightmare of our new rental (see previous post) for a work trip to Adelaide.

After a bay swim on Friday morning, I caught the SkyBus to the airport—the best way to get there from our new place. My early afternoon flight was quick and easy. South Australia is 30 minutes behind Victoria, which continues to puzzle me. From the airport, I took a bus into the city and checked into my hotel. After a quick sandwich from Via Vai, I was ready to explore.

 

I’d visited Adelaide briefly with my parents last year, but it still feels new. The city is compact and walkable. I strolled through the Botanic Gardens and noticed the purple jacaranda trees had already come and gone in the warmer climate. Despite Adelaide’s reputation for sunshine, the weekend felt more like Melbourne—cool and gray, but still full of that late-spring magic.

 

That evening I joined my work team for dinner at Phonatic. It was my first time meeting them in person—our small crew is scattered across Australia and New Zealand, and we work remotely.

Back in April, I shifted to four days a week at Animal-Free Science Advocacy so I could take on a one-day-a-week role with Doctors For Nutrition (DFN), an Australian non-profit promoting a whole food plant-based diet to prevent and manage chronic disease. Landing that job still feels surreal. My vegan journey began in 2016 for health reasons—drawn in by the science and simplicity of plant-based nutrition. I’ve grown much since then, both as a vegan and as an advocate, but health remains a big part of my values. Joining DFN—even in a role I’d never done before—felt perfectly aligned.

Photos by Liza Savchuk

Saturday was the big day: DFN’s Nutrition & Lifestyle Medicine Symposium, held at the Adelaide Health and Medical Sciences Building. As Fundraising Officer, my main contribution was securing sponsorships, with our primary supporter being Mushroom Health Science Australia. 

The day flew by. Excellent speakers, fantastic sponsors and exhibitors, a healthy lunch, and a room full of like-minded people—it was one of those events that leaves you buzzing in the best way.

Afterwards, a small group of us went to an invite-only dinner at Veggie Vie. By some good fortune, I ended up sitting next to our keynote speaker, Drew Harrisberg—a young plant-based exercise physiologist living well with type 1 diabetes.

 

I first discovered Drew on the Rich Roll Podcast. For those who don’t know, Rich Roll is my all-time hero and role model. He was one of my earliest vegan inspirations when I was just starting out on this journey. His story—plants, endurance sports, a career pivot—resonated with me deeply. On the podcast, his long-form conversations are incredibly thoughtful and present, and he chooses guests with genuinely compelling stories. He's a true lighthouse—radiating calm, steady influence rather than shouting to be heard.

So when I confessed to Drew my low-key obsession with Rich, he asked if I wanted to send him a message. Next thing I know, Drew is filming a video of me! I'd dreamt about this moment for years, and yet, despite the adrenaline, I was completely incoherent—babbling something like “I’m your biggest fan” and “I was your first fan,” which is… mortifying. Someday I hope to meet Rich in person and redeem myself. Until then, I can cling to the tiny, glowing fact that my chaotic fangirl moment may have briefly appeared on Rich Roll’s phone.

 

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Between the high of the conference, the stress of the move, and the emotional aftermath of the Rich Roll incident, my mind was racing.

Still, I rallied the next morning and took a quiet walk along the river. In Botanic Park, I passed a large colony of flying-foxes—just like the bats in Melbourne's Yarra Bend Park.

Eventually, I grabbed my duffel from the hotel and caught the bus back to the airport. Exhausted, but grateful and inspired. It was the break I needed—both from the chaos at home and to remind myself why this work matters so much.