A Seafaring (or Fearing) Man

The closest I have ever come to a sea cruise (oooo-eeee, baby!) is the half hour ride from Manly to Circular Quay on the ferry that traverses Sydney Harbor. Our friend Ronald tried to get us one from Narooma to Montague Island last week, but high swells prevented the prudently cautious captain from taking out his boat. Today there were no such problems with the Manly Ferry, and lest one think that harbor waters are generally still and peaceful the boat does have to face a bit of open water as it rounds the North and South Heads that guard the entranceway to this seaport. We have taken it in the past when it seemed the boat bobbed like a cork, but today’s run was very smooth.

Once we arrived in the Big Smoke, we had to get a taxi to our current lodgings. It was only a matter of a few blocks, but the burdensome load of our luggage suggested it was better handled with a cab ride. I am glad it was only a few blocks, because the driver, whose native tongue was clearly not English, promptly got lost and wasted our time and money going around a block that was roughly the size of Rhode Island. The promised discount in fare was not forthcoming.

The new apartment is a short distance from the conference venue at the Art Gallery of New South Wales and for the opening cocktail reception that happened this evening at the “O” bar on the 47th floor of the Australia Square building. It was quite an impressive view looking out over the Harbor Bridge and the Opera House, and off on the distant horizon one could see between the buildings the familiar outline of North Head. More surprises were to follow. As I chatted up Barbara, my host for this conference and met about five other librarians all of whom were named “Elizabeth,” I placed my hand on the outer wall of the widowed circumference of the room only to have the weird sensation that I was about to fall down. (Never fear, your prudent correspondent had not consumed that much beer.) The sudden onset of sea legs was caused simply by the restaurant itself which moves in a very slow clockwise direction, allowing a view of the entire city to unfold from all compass points. I have never been in such a building before and was thoroughly impressed, if not a bit sea sick.

The conference is quite small according to Barbara, perhaps about sixty or seventy people. I met one other American academic who will speak tomorrow, and a very nice archivist from New Zealand who told me tales about collecting Maori documents.It was amazing how much we had in common besides the ubiquitous Elizabeth handle. As I spoke to people I found a sincere love of reading, and an equal despair at its decline. I was also heartened to confirm that none of them blamed me personally for our country's recent decision to elect a tantrum-throwing haystack seated atop a Cheeto as our President. They seemed more than ready to hear my curmudgeonly take on digital library issues tomorrow, and I must cruise through this night while boarded on the ferry of Morpheus to prepare for the speech. I do not anticipate rough waters.

When Animals Go Horribly Wrong

I do not think the birds of Australia like me. First there was the unprovoked duck attack at the Murramurang Resort last week, and yesterday, here in North Manly, a small brownish bird that I cannot identify swooped at my head as I walked to the store. The bird, smaller than a “honey eater” but similarly colored, had already given the chap walking a dozen yards ahead the “what for,” so I was somewhat prepared. Perhaps protecting her nest, this little bird was a daredevil attacker, and later in the day as Jayne and I waited for a bus across the street we watched as it swooped over to our side occasionally and then back across to disappear in the same bushes.

Another animal encounter last night was just as exciting when I went to the bathroom and discovered a roach about the size of a small dog. There I was, unarmed, and helpless to destroy the creature as it scurried across the floor and into the main chamber of this little rental house. No doubt caused by the encounter, I had an uneasy sleep until Jayne awoke with a midnight mission to the restroom herself. I told her of the monster bug and, true to her nature, she was undeterred. Sizing up the situation, she quickly grabbed my rubber flip-flop sandal and dispatched another large one in the bathroom in less time than it takes me to type this line. Brave girl!

We move into the central business district of Sydney tomorrow to be in proximity of the conference, but in spite of the aforementioned midnight safari I do not wish to leave my few readers with the impression that our present headquarters is anything but charming. It is a lovely little cabin in a private backyard, and regardless of the visitation of any eight legged fauna it has to be one of the better places we have ever stayed. If only a little shop or something was nearer than a kilometer it would be perfect. That and perhaps a club for night time bathroom visits.

Cold Fury

I have been laid low by a vicious head cold on our return from the south coast. It became worse during our final day at Murramurang and during the drive back to the northern beaches my sinuses had become so impacted that I have had trouble sleeping. I hope to be back in trim by the time I am scheduled to speak at the conference on Thursday.

We have relocated to a really cute little backyard cabin in North Manly which is conveniently located near nothing. All of the commercial development of Manly lays far to the south of us and the closest grocery store, which only sells fruit, veg, seafood, and meat is nearly a full kilometer away. Even though I awoke groggy and stuffy this morning I braved that walk to get us something to eat for a continental breakfast. For the remainder of the day I intend to rest and try to beat this wretched virus.

The ride back yesterday was uneventful except for the fact that it took all day in traffic conditions that would have tried the patience of the Buddha. Ironic, since that is exactly why it took all day to get back here; we stopped at the Buddhist temple at Wollongong for lunch.

What a beautiful, spiritual place, and what a reasonably priced and delicious vegetarian lunch. We did a quick look around, during which I attempted a prayer at whatever Deity might be listening, and then resumed our battle with a line of slow moving cars that would maddeningly space out a times before bunching up again. My sincere admiration to both Ronald and Jane for their skill in dueling with this mechanized mess cannot be adequately expressed.

Bush Turkey Day

First of all a disclaimer: we did NOT see a bush turkey on today’s bush walk, but we did spot a lyre bird dashing off into the underbrush, which is almost as good. Regardless, this is about as close to the symbol of Thanksgiving and Benjamin Franklin’s choice for a national bird that we are going to get on this day. Although it is Friday here, as I type these lines I know so many of our loved ones are digesting their own turkey feasts, and I have just contented myself with a plate of microwave nachos. Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

We had intended today on taking a sea cruise from Narooma to Montague Island, a nature preserve off the coast about forty miles south of here. However the captain of our charter boat did not want a live rehearsal for “Gilligan’s Island” and had been watching the height of the sea swells all week to determine if it would be safe enough for a three hour cruise. Alas, it was not to be, and so we contented ourselves with a walk to see the tallest (or second tallest; it depends on who you ask) tree in New South Wales. It was a beautiful walk through a forest that looked very much like the set of a “Jurrasic Park” movie and the day was both cool, sunny, and relatively fly-free. The tree itself is somewhat underwhelming, but on the way back we had our encounter with the aforementioned lyre bird.

Other wildlife sightings today include the ever-present kagaroos, some dolphins that have appeared in the water right off the beach in front of our cabin, lorakeets who act like they have a right to access the interior of our home, and some rather aggressive ducks that attacked me during my morning walk to get the newspaper at the park headquarters. I am proud to say I have finally found a use for Rupert Murdoch’s Sydney Daily Telegraph because I used it to fend off the duck who clearly meant me harm.

Rainy Daze

Even though the first day of summer is about a month away, it can get quite cold on this beach. Yesterday it was overcast and rainy on and off the entire day, quite different from the day before when we actually got hot enough to swim in the ocean. Today I am looking out over a beautiful sunrise, and perhaps it will get hot again.

Since we could do little but play board games and hang around the villa yesterday, we decided to take a road trip to buy some food and explore a few nearby towns. One place called Mogo is an old gold rush camp and has a frontier theme park celebrating the invasion of fortune seekers in the 1860s. Although Ronald and Jane had no interest in touring the place (nor did I for that matter) we stopped and had a peek at their gift shop. I always feel obligated to visit these frontier reconstructions regardless of the cheesy commercialism and blatant phoniness. It is the reason I keep going back to Tombstone when we visit southern Arizona and consume expensive Wyatt burgers at the Crystal Palace. As it turned out, there was true cultural confusion on display among the Chinese made trinkets in this shop. Along with gold pans and fake wanted posters there were fake gold bars in the shape of $100 dollar bills, but they represented American currency. I guess when you are running a tourist trap and have to order your merchandise from Hong Kong wholesalers you have to take what you can get.

We also stopped in a little town that reminded me of Nibin, primarily because their was a store called “Hippy Sticks” which specialized in incense, tie dyed t-shirts, and Bob Marley wall hangings. The place was a riot of color, and the selection truly astounding. I could have picked up a “Hippy on Board” bumper sticker, but given America’s current political climate I don’t think it would have been safe to bring it back. Besides, how ridiculous would such a declaration look on the bumper of a big SUV?

Beachcombing With Marsupials

I am typing these lines while surrounded by dozens of gray kangaroos of both sexes and all ages. These marsupials pose no threat, however. They are the permanent residents of the Murramurang Beach Resort comfortably located on the beach of the national park bearing the same name. We left Collaroy yesterday morning with Ronald and Jane and drove a beautiful back road route around metropolitan Sydney. We saw such lovely countryside, and some really palatial homes. After stopping in a town called Ulladulla for groceries, we arrived at this resort by about four in the afternoon. Jane made us reservations for a two bedroom cabin that is absolutely lovely, right on the beach, and surrounded by the aforementioned ‘roos.

They really are interesting creatures. These ones are quite tame and very interested in humans, and when I first saw them as the evening was coming on I was impressed they allowed me to approach within about ten feet. Even more surprises awaited because after we went back to the cabin a mother and joey came right up to the porch to say hello. Jane, being a brave, fair dikum Aussie girl, boldly allowed mother ‘roo to sniff her hand and then began to pet her! I took courage from this and tied it myself. What an experience!

This morning I took a walk along the beach, about a mile I would estimate, and ended up sitting on some rocks that were shaped very strangely by the erosion. As I looked out over the Pacific at the rising sun, I felt totally at ease and in harmony with the planet. Then I looked down at my feet and within a small tidal pool etched out of the rock a medium sized crab was looking up at me. He looked like a water-borne tarantula, but he had no place to hide so I got to study him a bit. The day ahead looks good!

Cars and the People Who Love Them

The northern beaches area of Sydney is a great stretch of suburbia that many Americans would find familiar. However, there is one similarity that is certainly not serving these people well: the obsession with the automobile. Although there is likely ample room for more population growth around here, there is no room for more cars. Just like Americans, Aussies feel that individual mobility with an automobile is a birthright, and the infrastructure to support that attitude is simply not here. The result is a nightmare of traffic consisting primarily of vehicles with only one person in them, all snaking slowly along roads designed to handle a fraction of the present number. We have not taken the wheel on any of our trips down here, and I am heartily glad of it. Even if I could reconcile my driving skills to adjust to piloting down the left lane, I would go mad having to deal with the worst gridlock I have ever seen.

The answer is, of course, more public transport for both Australia and America. We just returned from an outing to go to Manly Beach, about six and a half miles. We rode the bus and the trip took about thirty minutes. I doubt seriously if one could have driven that distance any faster, and even if you could, it would probably take the same amount of time looking for a place to park. While seating on the bus one gains an appreciation for the steely nerves of the driver, and the incredible close shaves they must make to maneuver in the steady stream of cars.

We went to Manly to visit an open air flea market and watch the surfers from the beach, all on a lovely day with variable clouds and cool temperatures. Today’s picture shows Jayne checking out the bargains at the market, right before I adjourned to a nearby bar where I enjoyed a cold beer and tried desperately to understand the fellow sitting next to me who wanted to talk. Up until now I thought I could do pretty well speaking and understanding Australian, but this fellow was too much for me. He sounded like Bazza Mackenzie on steroids.

An Airport? No, Life is a Beach!

We landed at Sydney yesterday a little worse for wear, but glad to be back in the land of Oz none the less. Passing through customs was delayed when we honestly told the authorities that we were packing no less than six cans of Hormel Corned Beef Hash as a present for our friends (who love the stuff). After the sniff dog determined that the luggage contained nothing more than tinned meat product (which ironically looks like something you would feed a dog) we were on our way. First a train from the airport to Circular Quay, then the ferry across Sydney Harbor to Manly, and then a city bus to Collaroy.

Along the way we activated our travel phone, ate a couple of meat pies, and Jayne endured my hearty cursing at the bargain suitcase in which the hash was packed. The wheels on the damn thing were worthless. Now we are comfortably settled in our apartment high on a hillside above Collaroy Beach. I took a long walk along the shore at sunrise. It was beautiful, although the erosion many structures suffered during the storms of last June were apparent. Today's snap shows Jayne seated on our front porch, which is fragrant with star jasmine blooms.

Life is an Airport

I remember years ago when I was returning home from a conference when the thought occurred to me that the future was going to be like living in an airport, and I think I was right.

Airports are obsessed with security and one gets the feeling that one is under constant surveillance (which is true).

Everything is super expensive in an airport, from the five dollar hot dogs to the ten dollar beers.

Airports are crowded, noisy, and extremely uncomfortable.

Airports have no soul.

Now I am typing these lines while enjoying a paid admission to a "sky club" facility where we were able to indulge in a hot shower, free beer, and complimentary snacks which include a delicious chicken salad. That being said, this place still has no recliner seats, no furniture that invites lounging at all, and in spite of its relative quiet it is far from a comfortable place to kill a five hour layover.

As I contemplate what is in store for our society after this wretched election, I feel like my impressions of the future are coming true. I fully expect to be watched, to be uncomfortable, and to pay more for everything. Indeed, the future is turning out to be an airport.

Headed Way South Again

We are rapidly approaching our next journey to the Land of Oz and I could not be more excited. A conference hosted by the Art Libraries Society of Australia and New Zealand offered an opportunity for me to go back to the land I love and present a paper. They have also asked me to participate in a closing panel discussion, all held at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in Sydney. The theme of the conference is "Persistence of the Real," and I think with my curmudgeonly take on modern library practices I can reliably comment along those lines.

While we are so looking forward to the trip, there is also the embarrassment of traveling overseas so close on the heels of this disastrous national election. It will be difficult to represent a country that now has gone on record as favoring a candidate who is a racist, misogynistic idiot, but perhaps it will actually help me in my presentation to the conference. After all, my claim has long been that the internet is making idiots of us all, and there can be no more compelling evidence that widespread voting for an orange skinned baboon has helped make that case. What a change from our last trip to Oz, when I was actually proud of our president!