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.