Shark Bait

Today's topic is a bit different, based partially on an incident that did not directly involve us, but was interesting nonetheless. Before I get to it, however, we have a picnic to discuss.

The voyage to Patonga was a great trip. We took the ferry from the Palm Beach wharf on Saturday morning after spending the night at Ronald's house. He suggested that we start early on Saturday to catch the nine o'clock ferry, but that didn't happen. The night before we stayed up perhaps later than we should have watching rugby football again (Friday nights are usually double headers, and I managed to make it through about a third of the second game.) As a result everyone slept in too late and we had to take the 11:00 launching.

Palm Beach is a rather exlusive area near the very end of the Barrenjoey penninsula and about a twenty minute drive from Ronald's house. The ferry is a small boat that takes about fifty passengers maximum, and it has to negotiate its way around a bunch of sailboats and yachts that are sprinkled in the waters offshore. Once it had cleared the boats we were chugging along approaching the open waters of the Tasman Sea, rounding a head of land that was mostly national park, entirely undeveloped and covered with lush vegetation. As we were rounding the head, you could see Sea Lion Island, a pretty big chunk of rock that is home to a penguin colony and strictly off limits to visitors.

Patonga is a little fishing village that has become a summer home area, surrounded by parkland and literally the "end of the road" for anyone traveling there by car. We met Cindy, Jane, and Jane's parents, John and Gwen, at a really nice picnic spot near one end of the beach. John and Gwen were pretty cool, and we had a nice visit before feasting on all the goodies they had brought. A stroll down the beach followed, with lots of shell gathering and examination of various deposits of "shark poo," a mysterious clear jelly substance that washes up on shore. When the ferry returned it was only three in the afternoon, but all the bright sunshine and fresh air seemed to have tired us out as much as if we had hiked for miles. We didn't do much on Sunday, but therein lies the tale of the title.

Have you ever heard a siren for an approaching tornado, or perhaps an air raid in an old movie? The sound is unlike those they use on contemporary police and fire vehicles and is a long, sustained wail. You can easily imagine how we all bolted from our chairs on Sunday afternoon when we heard such a siren screaming right across the street from our apartment. As we rushed to the balcony, we could see the huge weekend crowd on the beach looking out to sea, and everyone who was in the water at the time was making for shore in record time. In just moments the water was completely devoid of people except for the search rescue guys who went tear-assing out into the breakers in their speed boat. I had an idea of what was going on, but Jayne and I went outside to the crowd to confirm our suspicions. A shark had been cited just about 100 meters off shore, and they saftey guys were doing their best to harass the dangerous creature back out to sea. It was all over after a while, and people went back into the water eventually, but my sentiments were echoed by a little boy I overheard: "But mum, I don't want to go in....I hate sharks!"

The Royal Easter Show

Do you remember going to the county fair when you were a kid? Remember the midway, with all the rides that would make you queasy, and the food booths that would contribute to that feeling? Perhaps you can also remember going into a smelly stock barn to look at a few scraggly pigs and cows, or entering an exhibit hall to gaze upon jars of pickled okra festooned with blue or white ribbons.

Well, you will need to multiply those memories by a thousand or more if you are ever fortunate enough to attend the Royal Easter Show of New South Wales. We too a trip to the Olympic Park on Wednesday where the Show is being held, and we were completely overwhelmed by the magnitude and class of the event. It is what we in America would call a "state fair," but considering how big New South Wales is, this state fair was huge. Acres and acres of food booths, showbag stalls, commercial exhibits, and animals, all spread over the lavish grounds that the Australian’s constructed when they hosted the Olympics in 2000.

We began our trip by taking the ferry back across the harbor to Circular Quay, the first step we take before going anywhere to the south and west from Manly. At the wary we purchased special train tickets that provided roundtrip transportation to the Show along with admission, which was a fairly good deal considering the distance. Jayne, Benjamin and Jacob had not been on the train system before and had to rely on my memory from my previous journey to get us to our destination. We got there, but not without a bit of quiet second guessing on my part as I anxiously looked at the transportation grid map and counted off the various stations we passed.
Once we arrived at the Show, we met up with Ronald, Jane, and Cindy, who began walking us past the first batch of "showbag" booths. Showbags are one of the unique customs of the show and are batches of stuff (toys, candy, magazines, ect.) that are put into a bag and sold at a discount, provided one prices all the contents individually. The bags have various themes, such as ninja, army, Barbie, or Wild West, and the contents vary from really useful items like backpacks and sunglasses to the ridiculous, like buttons, woopie cushions, and hand buzzers. Jacob found a South Park themed showbag that netted him a wallet and a haversack, and Benjamin got one that was geared for computer gamers with magazines and demonstration CDs. Jayne and I settled on one with a "Summer Heights High" theme and were pleased with our purchase. Summer Heights High is a comedy television series which Ronald and Jane introduced to us earlier in our trip hat we grown very fond of.

With showbags purchased we took in the rest of the show, or at least as much as we had stamina to see. There was a giant exhibition all dedicated to food, with mural like displays made from agricultural products that were very impressive. Vendors at this section were giving away free samples of just about anything you could imagine, and I managed to snag samples of beer, wine, roast chicken, Indian curry, salad, fruit, nuts, and even a bowl of breakfast cereal. I believe if one took the time to go twice around the hundreds of exhibitors, one would have eaten a rather substantial meal. We next went to the woodchop, a competition held in a large outdoor arena. Big beefy guys with the most polished axes on earth race each other to chop through hardwood logs placed in varying positions for each heat. One trial consisted of the men chopping notches into a vertical logs into which they placed narrow boards. Then they would get up on these narrow boards, balance themselves, and chop some more. The strength and agility were amazing. Another competition saw the men standing on a very narrow log and chopping through the thing BETWEEN THEIR FEET! One slip of that axe and a fellow’s toes would have been no more than a memory.

We then attended the Grand Opening of the Show, along with the grand entry parade. A company of Australian soldiers, sailors, and airmen stood in formation, while a brass band played the national anthem. After the Show was declared open, the soldiers marched out while the band played a marching rendition of "Waltzing Matilda" and the whole crowd stood and clapped as they passed out of the arena. What happened next was almost as impressive. A massive parade of prize cattle, pigs, goats, sheep, horses, and even dogs assembled on the field in a choreographed pattern so everyone could see them. The announcer was careful to tell the crowd not to clap or cheer until all the animals and their handlers had exited the grounds because they feared a stampede. One almost happened when an unruly cow got loose from his leader and pranced around a little, but one of the field officials managed to get a grab on his bridle and all was well.

There was so much to see and do at this fair that we couldn’t do it together. Ronald, Jane and Cindy eventually separated from us to view the animal barns on their own, and we saw just enough of the midway to convince us that getting on any of the rides would result in our saying goodbye to any junk food we had consumed. In all, we spent about six hours at the show, walked what seemed to be about twenty miles, saw perhaps a fraction of what was actually at the show, and returned home quite exhausted. It was fantastic.

Zoological Expedition

We went to the Taronga Zoo on Tuesday, a day chosen more due to weather conditions more than anything else. Skies have been overcast in Sydney on and off for the last couple of days, and since it looked as if the cloud cover would continue on Tuesday, Ronald suggested that we go and take advantage of the shade.

I started the day early by taking the ferry back into the city to investigate the possibility of changing Ben and Jake’s tickets so they could return to Montana a week or two early. The New Zealand Airlines office is just a few blocks from the ferry warf, and it was easy to walk there to see if the matter could be settled. Unfortunately, I was told that we couldn’t really do anything; the tickets could not be changed without a price increase, and that price increase could not be determined until our Montana travel agent confirmed the original reservation. However, it was an easy matter to get a one way ticket to the Taronga Zoo landing via another ferry, and I was on my way to meet Ronald, who had driven to the zoo with Jayne, Benjamin, and Jacob.

The zoo was fantastic. When I arrived at the warf, I took a cable car up the hill to the zoo proper, but Ronald and the family had taken the same cable car DOWN the hill to meet me. They yelled at me as our cars passed, and we waved at each other. All they had to do was stay on the car and come back up, and all of us were reunited.

There were beautiful grounds and exotic animals aplenty. We started with reptiles and ended with an Australian "bushwalk" that allowed us into an enclosure with wallabies and emus with no bars between us whatsoever. The wallaby was particularly cute, and some tourists posed with the little creature while they petted it. We also saw the platypus, the Tasmanian devil, tigers, lions, several different kinds of bears, Indian elephants, and other animals too numerous to mention. We must have walked miles through all kinds of canopied pathways to the various exhibits, and I am not at all sure we saw all there was to see in the hours we were there.

After leaving the zoo, we visited Ronald’s wife, Jane, at the Mosman Library, a very nice public library situated above a cricket oval in this north Sydney suburb. Jane showed us around, introducing us to all the librarians and giving us a behind the scenes tour. It was particularly interesting for me to see how our Australian colleagues do business. After our visit, Jane pointed the way to the Mosman Art Gallery where we saw some interesting works done in a variety of mediums. Nautical theme’s predominated, with a special nod to Mosman’s whaling heritage. By the time we got home, we were bushed, and all of us turned in early after a spirited family poker game. Jayne got up this morning and posted a few pics of the zoo trip for your amusement.

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Archival Angst

On Thursday before the big Easter holiday, I left the family for a solo expedition into the western Sydney suburbs and a visit to the New South Wales State Records Center (archives) in Kingswood. Getting there was half the adventure because I had to get up very early to catch the first ferry into the city at 6:40 am. It was the most beautiful crossing I have made to date, with the sun coming up over the Manly peninsula and seeing the Sydney skyline coming to life in the dawn from my vantage point in the very bow of the boat. The water was quite calm and the ride smooth.

My next stop was the Sydney train station. I knew I had to catch the line going west to the Emu Plains, and it was no more than a thirty second wait until it arrived. The trains are somewhat slow, hot, stuffy, and if I had been going in the opposite direction (INTO the city center) crowded and cramped. I realized that there would be the same conditions on my return trip later that afternoon, and I was thankful for that circumstance. As I went farther into the west, the country really flattened out, and there were not as many high rise buildings. The ethnicity of my fellow passengers changed, too, with those schoolchildren getting on and off at the stops representing several different countries and languages. The last train stop was St. Mary’s, where I was to catch a motor bus to the archives, and here I found a city core that was somewhat dilapidated and dominated by small Asian markets and tobacco stands operated by Middle Eastern proprietors. There was a preponderance of graffiti all over every vertical surface, and even the local supermarket had a security guard in the parking lot (never a good sign!)

The bus took me directly to the archives for a three buck fare that I thought a bit excessive, but then again, everything is expensive here. The New South Wales Records Center is located in a suburban area of Kingswood, just south of a sprawling and spacious college campus. The whole area around the facility looks like a golf course. The building itself is unimpressive, but then most modern architecture leaves me unimpressed. Once I was inside, a receptionist pointed me to the reading room, located on the second floor where there is a nice lounge for researchers when feeling the need to take a break. The reading room itself was pretty big, with banks of microfilm machines, a long counter where the clerks are stationed, and several large tables with comfortable chairs. I had ordered my materials ahead of time over the Internet, so they were all ready for my inspection as soon as I asked for them, but here is where I was surprised. You see, I had registered online to use the archives, providing my name, address, etc., but once I asked for the material the clerk did not even bother to ask me for ANY identification. I could have been anyone. Another surprise was their insistence that all researchers wear latex gloves to look at anything. They keep huge boxes of the damn things on the counter, just like at the doctor’s office, and everyone in the room looks like they are ready to start operating on a patient. They are uncomfortable, and completely unnecessary, in my opinion. What makes matters worse, they are absolutely angers to my health since my hand excema (which I have suffered with since my teen years) goes completely out of control when I wear such gloves for over five minutes. I had no choice, so I wore the things and tried to work quickly by using my digital camera to take notes from the manuscripts I pressed.

The discomfort of the gloves, and the lack of substantive records regarding Royal National Park’s conception and origin, convinced me to quit by about three thirty in the afternoon. I was unable to meet with any of the archivists at the place because this day, prior to the official Easter holiday long weekend, only the reading room clerks were working. I left my business card with them and requested to meet with one of the archivists after the holidays. The only difference in my trip back into the city was that the train was hotter than the hinges of hell in mid afternoon, but again, due to the direction I was going, mercifully uncrowded. My research did reveal one important clue. My next investigation will take me to the New South Wales State Library where personal manuscript collections are held.

Pics

Close Encounters of the Kangaroo Kind

Today's posting will be brief since it has to be made on a pay internet kiosk in a funky Canberra hotel. Jayne, Fred, Ronald and I have journeyed into the interior of New South Wales and Victoria by taking a road trip to Beechworth. We started out on Monday going southwest along the National Highway, crossing the Great Dividing Range and finally getting an inkling of just how big this country is. The country started to get more and more dry, but there were still trees scattered about on the hillsides just about everywhere we went. In this regard I cannot say the countryside looked like eastern Montana. There the hills would be bare, but the trees gathered along the stretches of the creeks and washes.

Beechworth is an old gold rush mining town that still has many of its 1870s vintage buildings, including the Tanswell Hotel where we stayed the night. It also has lots of sites associated with Ned Kelly, the famous outlaw bushranger, including a pretty impressive museum display. We spent the night in Beechworth and then came here to the capital state of the country, Canberra.

We looked in vain for wildlife all during the more than 500 miles we drove, and it was not until after we checked into this motel in the suburbs of the city that we finally had success. Next to this motel is an abandoned historical theme park (history is a subject of diminishing interest in this culture, too) and we finally saw kangaroos as day slowly faded into night. We were able to approach them fairly closely before they went bounding off into the woods beyond. They behave like deer in the outskirts of Bozeman, coming in to graze in the cool of the evening and to take a few jumps in front of cars at night. We also saw Australian possums in the bushes right outside our hotel window. Our inkeeper fed them some fruit. Today we return to Manly and see how the boys are doing.

A Bike Ride

Today's activity consisted of a bicycle ride to the summit of North Head, the promintory that guards the opening of Port Jackson and the Sydney Harbor. Armed with special discount coupons kindly provided by Ronald and Jane, Benjamin, Fred and I hied ourselves to the Manly Cycle shop where we rented three rather sophisticated multispeed contraptions for an exploration of areas far beyond our ability to walk. We set out first down the strand that runs along the beach and stopped at the apartment so Ben could get his sunglasses. Then it was off on a grueling hill climb, made by sticking to the sidewalks to avoid the insane traffic here. The fellow who rented the bikes told us about the route, pointing out that our proposed route would pass the hospital "in case we needed it." His prediction proved accurate, because it was the terrible climb played havoc with my lungs and Fred's legs. (Benjamin's legs and lungs are in great shape, so he obligingly waited for us periodically as we struggled along. Once at the top, we passed through the Artillery Fort, which was actually a training barracks that has since turned into a museum. Then it was on through a bizarre scrub forest to attempt to find the overlook. Some of the paths were blocked by swamp conditions that had closed the way for pedestrians. We did, however, find an old abandoned bunker that had served as an observation post duing World War II and had an exellent view of the opening of Port Jackson. We saw ships out on the horizon and enjoyed a breath of air before we turned out machines downhill. That part of the trip was a real pleasure. Once we arrived back at the apartment, Fred traded off with Jayne and together we proceeded up the beach along some really nice bike trails that run along the Manly Lagoon.

Teased by an Aboriginal!

Today’s title comes from a singularly amusing incident, although I am not prepared to tell it just yet. First I must relate the events of the last two days, which ought to be easy enough. We have done nothing. That’s not entirely accurate, we have done SOMETHING, which is eat, nap, sleep, and swim in the surf. I have settled into a pattern of going down to the beach shortly after breakfast every day. The surf seems particularly powerful during the early morning hours, and its so much fun to wade out, fight the monster waves, and try to ride atop a particularly large breaker. We have yet to do so with a "belly board" (Ronald calls them "shark biscuits") but that day is coming soon. I purchased an arm fastening lanyard for a board, and Ronald will bring us one of his to experiment with. Benjamin and Jacob have also adopted my new morning constitutional ritual and are looking forward to experimenting with a belly board. One noticeable benefit of our continued visits to the beach is the darkening pigmentation of our skin. We no longer look like beached whales, but more like beached lobsters.

We ate at an Indian restaurant on the Corso last night. I do not believe I have had hotter food in any Mexican restaurant in my life, although Jayne ordered a sensible rice dish and Fred a "medium" entree that he insisted was warm enough. My own choice of vindaloo was hot enough to cause my internal thermometer, as evidenced by perspiration atop my head, to go into overdrive.

Today’s journey was somewhat emotional, but in a good way. We took the ferry into the city where we met Jenenne Harman and her son, Wyatt. Jenenne was married to our mutual friend Mark Hartman who passed away in late 2001. She was waiting for us at the Circular Quay and we all walked back to the Botanical Gardens for a visit under a shady tree to get reacquainted. After a brief visit there, we went to "The Rocks" section of the waterfront where we met Wyatt at a pub. Jayne and I had not seen Wyatt since he was a toddler, and it was a pleasure to see what a fine young man he has become. It was also uncanny, as his mannerisms and appearance were so similar to his late father. We had a great lunch, which Wyatt "shouted" for (thanks, Wyatt) and then walked over to the Modern Art Museum where we viewed some pretty bizarre artwork by a contemporary artist who works with, among other things, Tupperware. There was also an exhibit of Aboriginal bark paintings, and I was impressed by both their fragility and their beauty. They use such unique abstract designs of dots and wavy lines.

Once we left the museum and walked back to the Manly ferry dock, I had my own Aboriginal encounter. There are several stations of Aboriginal performers in the area, all playing digereedoos and posing for pictures. As we walked past the first of these fellows, he ceased playing his instument and began to speak to the crowd, welcoming to Australia those who had just arrived and inviting anyone to come and learn how to play. Although he was painted and dressed in true native attire, his speech was in the same Aussie slang as anyone else around here, which is at first a bit unnerving. (From the looks of him you would expect Pidgin English and grunts.) As he spoke to the crowd he noticed me, mainly because I have abandoned my wide brimmed straw hat in favor of a bandanna to hold my hair in place because of the constant wind. He laughed when he saw me, gestured out to the ocean, and said, "Woodstock is that way, mate!" I gave him the thumbs up, and we walked on back to the ferry and our return home.

Today is Fred's birthday, but not where he lives! We will celebrate with home made pizza and cake.

In the Garden

On Monday we all got on the ferry again for another trip to the city. This time we really lucked out because the regular ferry was delayed and they allowed us to take the jet ferry for no extra charge. The thing moves like a bat out of hell and covers the same distance in half the time. With Ronald as our trusty guide, we headed past the Opera House to the Botanical Gardens, a fantastic public park with the widest variety of vegetation I have ever seen. There were native and non-native plants and trees, with lovely open fields and harbor views. Some of the native trees are particularly weird looking, with tangled roots and massive spreading branches that look as if they each weigh several tons. Once we got to the center of the park we stopped for a rather expensive lunch which was served at outside tables besieged by hungry ibis birds and "flying foxes" (gigantic fruit eating bats.) I always thought these animals only lived in Java or some other remote Pacific location, but apparently they have really taken to this park and they roost in the trees by the thousands.

Our next stop was the art museum of New South Wales, a short walk just beyond the gardens. The interior of the place was massive, with exhibit halls that were large enough to fit about five Museum of the Rockies! I particularly liked the nineteenth century art, including a dramatic painting of the battle of Rourke’s Drift, made famous by the movie "Zulu." Benjamin and Jayne explored the galleries dealing with modern and Aboriginal art, and Fred and Ronald wandered around all over the map. (Jacob stayed home on this trip; he wasn’t feeling well.)
One exhibit of particular beauty was a collection of Indian art, both Hindu and Moslem. At the entrance to this exhibit was a statue of Ganesh carved from volcanic rock and someone had placed a fresh lotus flower in his lap. This was pretty cool, because we had just seen a huge lotus pond in the gardens and were taken by the strange plastic-looking center of the blossom. Of course we could not do this museum justice during the hour or two we spent exploring because it was simply too big. We will be back, especially since the New South Wales library is also in the vicinity.

On the way back to the ferry we paused and watched an Aboriginal music group playing drums and the digereedoo to the accompaniment of pre-recorded instrumentals. It sounded great, and Ronald purchased their CD. One of the Abbos was in full native regalia and obligingly posed for photographs while making those strange, almost voodoo-like, hand gestures. Then it was off to the ferry for a return home where we cooked dinner, played Scrabble, and went to bed pretty darn tired.

A Trip to the City

Yesterday we took the ferry into Sydney with Ronald as our helpful guide. We are very lucky he was along, because we would have been totally lost without him. At first we did not think that we would be able to go at all since our one checked piece of luggage had yet to arrive, and when I finally got confirmation the suitcase would be delivered the guy said he might not arrive until two in the afternoon. Luckily he was early and we were able to go on into the big city. The ferry ride from Manly to Circular Quay takes about a half hour, and it was a beautiful sunny day with calm waters. We saw so many sailboats and small craft plying the waters all around us, and once we came around the bend the Opera House and Harbor Bridge could be seen. A spectacular view.

Once we were in the city we walked to Paddy’s market, a giant warehouse of junk being offered for sale in dozens of small temporary booths. The vendors were all very friendly, as you would expect from people trying to sell you stuff that you neither need nor want. I did see something I wanted and bought it: a Ned Kelly t-shirt. After that, we returned to the ferry and got home somewhat exhausted.

Today we went to the airport where we picked up Fred Pascoe, my old friend from Tucson, who has come out to join us for a couple of weeks. He held up pretty well after the lengthy flight and was game for our next adventure. Ronald picked us up to take us to the home of Ross and Kathryn, Ronald’s sister in law, and had a fantastic meal on their back deck. They live not far from our apartment and have a lovely house.
One of these pictures is from a visitor we had on our porch yesterday.

Here down under

I type these lines while comfortably settled in our Manly Beach apartment. We arrived in Sydney after a pretty arduous journey because of United Airlines and their inablity to get a connection from Denver to Los Angeles in a timely fashion. Our flight out of Denver was delayed for several hours, and when I requested an earlier flight so we could meet our overseas connection I foolishly thought I had the problem solved. Not so. The "earlier" flight did not leave until five minutes AFTER the delayed time of our original flight, which put us into the Los Angeles airport with less than thirty minutes to make our connection. If you have never been to LAX, I can assure you that it is a confusing urban complex with several different terminals, and we had no idea how to make it to the one where our New Zealand Airline flight was due to leave. Instead of trying to figure out the public transport to the correct terminal, we set offf on foot in a frenzied run of about a quarter mile, where we AGAIN had to pass through security before we could get to the proper gate. We made the flight with about two minutes to spare, and we were the last passengers allowed on board.

The flight itself was rather pleasant, and we managed to get a bit of sleep before we arrived in Sydney 16 hours later. Our friend Ronald met us at the gate, and Jayne took the attached snapshot of our meeting. Hw took us to our apartment first, and then to his home in Narrabeen where we visited the beach. Jacob soaked up a few rays with Ronald, as you can see, and Benjamin created a sandface sculpture that remained to mystified the natives.

Last Minute Musings

The flight leaves tomorrow and this last day we are spending in preparation. There are a few more bills to be paid, a few more things to be backed, and conferences with the house sitters. Willie, the world's cutest Westie, has had a bath and is ready to face seven weeks depending on the kindess of strangers. The cats are both oblivious to our plans; I'm not sure they would care anyway.

One of the more vexing questions is regarding our trak cell phone; will it work in Australia? I have been to the website and have reason to believe it will work, which means our biggest problem will be in estimating the right time of day for calling back to the U.S. It gets confusing on the other side of that International Date Line.

I hope my next entry will be made in Sydney. Until then...