Exploration day

This morning I watched the sun come up over the Pacific again and drank my coffee. Feeling restless, I took the bus down to Manly and then the ferry into the city. I wandered around the Rocks area for a while and ended up drinking a few ice colds at the Fortune of War, advertised as the oldest pub in the city. It was awfully hot, so the beer was quite refreshing. Now, after posting this in an internet cafe, I am getting back on the bus to go home and read over my speech for tomorrow. I have to pay the piper for this trip!

The high point of my day, as always, was talking to Jayne on the telephone. I can't wait until she joins me next week.

Back in OZ!!!!

Here I sit in an internet cafe tucked behind a Subway sandwich shop in Narrabeen, New South Wales. I arrived yesterday after a lenghty airplane ride that I managed to sleep through for the most part. The only jet lag I felt was staying up until sundown here, which was about two in the morning Montana time. Today I feel great and have spent the morning peddling around the place on a bicycle that Jane loaned me. Last night we had a delicious dinner of lamb racks and salad, washed down with ice cold Cooper's sparkling ale. I have been to the local Woolworths to lay in a supply of Bundaburg rum, meat pies, and VB, so I am well stocked. I even managed to call Jayne this morning on my borrowed cell phone. Life is good!

Tomorrow I will probably be rehearsing my speech for the big conference on Wednesday. Jane will take me into the city and make sure I find the convention center that day, and afterwards Ronald is taking me to a local club for a trivia night competition. It is so exciting to be here! I plan to post as often as I can, so stay tuned for further updates. G'day, mates!

A Visit to Amma

With our time in Australia quickly coming to an end, you would think there was little left that would top our list of adventures and doings, but in one regard sense our activity on Wednesday was thepenultimate event of the journey. From our Bozeman friends we had become aware of Amma, a Hindu religious leader from India who has become world famous as a fundraiser for humanitarian causes and her bestowal of blessings on people by hugging them. This may not sound too impressive in and of itself, but when you factor in that many people consider her to be the human embodiment of the Absolute, that she has literally hugged MILLIONS of people, and has donated MILLIONS of dollars for disaster relief and other causes, you have an idea that this is no ordinary person. I have wanted to see Amma for a long time, once even planning on taking a Greyhound bus to Seattle to meet here during her annual visits there. You can imagine our surprise when one day I was reading the local paper and saw that she was going to come to Sydney for a visit on
April 15 and 16 and knew we would be able to see her. It seemed like it was meant to be.

We got up early on the 16 and took the ferry into the city, a rather unpleasant task since it has been raining here on and off for the last week and the harbor has some pretty big swells from a restless ocean beyond. Once we landed at Circular Quay, we got on a train to a stop that I was reasonably sure would be close to the advertised location of Amma’s appearance, but I had drastically miscalculated. The train left us short of our goal, walking down a rainy city street with no clue as to our destination, but I managed to hail a passing taxi and the driver took us the
remaining blocks without any trouble.

When Amma travels, hundreds of volunteers help organize her events and they were in full force at the Sydney Boys High School gymnasium. First we took off our shoes, then were given a token with a number on it that would let us know when to start lining up to receive our blessing from Amma. This last part is crucial, for thousands of people want to see her and without putting some sort of order to the crowd there would be chaos. There were several thousand waiting in that auditorium, or in the immediate vicinity, so we were glad to note our own token numbers indicated our wait would not be long.


After waiting about an hour, during which time they showed a video which explained the extent of Amma’s humanitarian work, the woman herself entered the building to the hushed wonderment of all. She was followed by several priests in saffron robes who chanted a Sanskrit blessing and she greeted the crowd with a gesture before sitting down on the floor in front of everyone. One of the priests then led the audience through a brief meditation before the actual greeting line got underway. We watched as Amma hugged them all; old, young, infirm, healthy. Her smile never wavered and she was particularly charming when asked to embrace a baby or a toddler. Jayne and I joined the line and slowly worked our way to the front of a long line of double row chairs, ending with the last few feet to be covered on one's knees at the approach to Amma. It all happened so quickly that I have trouble remembering much other than a warm embrace and a "mantra" whispered in my ear, and then we were whisked away by the attendants so the next in line would have a turn.

It was a very beautiful experience, and I am glad we went. Several times since the incident I have tried to remember that mantra she whispered, and I believe I have done so. Perhaps it will do us both some good, and we feel very lucky to have crossed paths with this remarkable woman.

It Might be a Camel

Those of you who are Frank Zappa fans might remember this title from one of his songs on the Hot Rats album, but it has a double meaning for our story today. Ever since I mistook a large dead log laying in a rural New South Wales paddock for a bull, I have been the subject of ridicule by Ronald for both my bad eyesight and my “Look at the size of that bull!” declaration. This time Ronald made a similar declaration, with much different results, but we will get to that in a minute.

On day two of our visit to the center of the continent, we rose to find a somewhat chilly, windy dawn and no time for breakfast beyond a few “bird seed bars” that we had bought before our trip. Ronald drove us back into the national park, but this time we took a different road to go to Kata Tjuta, a group of strange, bare rock mountains visible in the distance from Uluru. We got to the first hiking point in good order and proceeded down the “Valley of the Winds” loop trail, a rocky passage that takes hikers deep into narrow canyons flanked by almost vertical walls of strange, conglomerate rock. Geologists might cringe at that last description, but I can only tell you that these mountains look as if they are giant concrete castings, with a mortar of sandstone holding together millions of smaller rocks as if they had been set by a stone mason.

The hike was much more demanding than the cakewalk we took around Uluru, and we had to scramble over many giant ledges of slanting rock surface where the trail was simply indicated by a few plastic arrows set into the ground. The canyons themselves were beautiful and lush with trees and undergrowth, all taking advantage of the rock walls’ ability to collect the sparse rainfall and gather it into the deep channels below. We kept seeing large piles of “scat” (a polite term) along the trail, and we thought they were the result of passing kangaroos, but the turds were somewhat large for that animal and set us to speculating. We encountered lots of other hikers, some with ridiculous fly nets around their heads to ward off the myriad insects that infest the place, but really the wind was making such precautions unnecessary. One fellow took a group photo of your intrepid explorers, and I believe it may be posted on Ron’s blog.


Once we regained our car we began the drive to the second hike, a short trail to the end of a massive gorge further along in this small mountain range. While Jane was at the wheel, Ronald had the leisure to survey the surrounding countryside. Whist so engaged, he declared, “Look, there is a camel!” and I was sure that he was again putting my mistaken bullock sighting up for a few laughs. Not so. There, out in an open area about two hundred yards away, a wild camel was resting and chewing its cud. Jane stopped the car, allowing Jayne and Ronald to go out and approach the beast (perhaps closer than they should have in Ronald’s case) and got some fantastic pictures before the camel rose and meandered off.

Our final hike up the gorge was a short stroll up an easy trail that ended in a box canyon. More of the giant ‘roo poop was seen, but now we were convinced it was the camel’s droppings, especially when we saw a few small pools of standing water along the canyon floor. When we reached the end of the trail and were sitting quietly, I heard a clattering that was somewhat alarming and realized that a rock had come loose from the canyon wall above and had crashed down to the canyon floor with lethal speed. With all that cement work holding together these massive rocks it was to be expected, but unnerving nonetheless.

The rest of our time in the Ayer’s Rock Resort was spent in two major activities: hanging out in the Pioneer Bushman’s pub and searching for a geocache treasure without the benefit of a handheld GPS device. We tried to pinpoint the treasure’s location using Google Earth and the map coordinates and had a pretty good idea which ridge to search, but we had no success the first day. On our last morning, armed with clues we got from other finder’s photographs, Jayne made her first geocache find and we all made our way to the hidden loot. We signed the logbook and left two American coins for the next finder, and took a small globe keychain for our pains.

The Big Red Center

I know, I know....I did not spell "centre" according to Australian custom, but I can't entirely get rid of my American prejudices after six weeks here. Last Friday Jane, Ronald, Jayne, and I boarded a plane in Sydney to travel to Uluru and the big resort hotel complex that welcomes visitors at this isolated spot. We all got package travel deals, which included a stay at the "Lost Camel Inn," a pretty nice hotel as we found out even though the rooms lacked individual television sets.

The trip began by a limo ride to the airport courtesy of Ron's preparation arrangements, and before we knew it we were travelling far, far into the interior of the continent. I had no idea how vast this country is until that plane ride. It took over two and a half hours to get to Uluru, and had Quantas adopted the American airline custom of letting passengers try to subsist on a package of pretzels we would have starved. As it was, the ham sandwich they served up did not last me until the drinks came around.

The Ayer's Rock Resort complex is a really bizarre oasis in a desert that looks a lot like the area around Tucson. We had expected a moonscape of red sand, but the whole area was covered with strange little trees that looked like Dr. Suess had drawn them, and the dry washes gave host to large eucalyptus trees. Even though the soil was mostly red sand, batches of prickly grass seemed to grow everywhere, and we were all a bit surprised by this.

At the resort, we quickly found out that there was only one place we could afford to eat at, the Pioneer Bushman's Bar and Grill. It was also the only place you could get beer, which was cheap by the glass, but outrageous by the six pack. We went to this watering hole the first night to grill our own steaks and abuse the salad bar, and listened to a pretty good guitar player who seemed to know every popular tune you could think of from the last thirty years or so.

Most folks at Uluru book tour buses that take them out to the rock at dawn, dole out a ration of two cookies and a cup of tea, and then let folks wander around for a couple of hours. We were lucky enough to have booked our own car, so the next morning we drove out before sunrise to see the rock come to life. When we arrived at the viewing spot we found it crowded with tourists and the sunrise obscured with clouds, so we went to a parking space and began our seven kilometer march around the giant red stone. . It was quite an experience. The rock has thousands of pit marks where the wind and elements have eroded the surface, and periodically there are small box canyons where the sparse rainfall allows for some pretty substantial brushland growth. We also saw ancient aboriginal drawings in some of the caves, and paid heed to the countless "sacred site" warnings that advised tourists their cameras were an insult to the natives These warnings are second only in number to the admonitions that climbing the rock is also an insult, although the park managers alledgedly allow the practice to continue. I cannot imagine wanting to climb it. Even if the weather was hot (which it was not) the effort it would take to pull oneself up along a giant chain would be enough to discourage anyone with a lick of sense.

After our trek around the rock, we went to the "cultural centre" which was filled with more lenghty notices regarding the significance of the site to the aboriginal people and some of the most expensive "crafts" (read: carved sticks) on the planet. We tried to eat at the little cafe, but the sausage rolls they were serving were filled with the fabled mystery meat that you may recall from juinor high cafeteria days and other dining options were prohibitively expensive. In all, the cultural centre seemed to be designed primarily to relieve well-heeled tourists of their disposable income, without a word being said of the local geology or history of the place.

In my next post, I will describe the rest of our trip.

Ben Hall Serves a Tasty Dish

Ronald twisted our collective arms to go on another road trip on Monday and we are glad he did. Our destination was vague; we could either go up the coast towards Queensland or back into the interior of New South Wales to see the country on the other side of the Blue Mountains. We opted for the latter shortly after we got into the car and headed out.

The first leg of our journey brought us up into the Blue Mountains along the Bell’s Line of Road, a winding stretch that meandered through giant rain forests and spectacular views. This part of the country is close to three thousand feet above sea level, and we had the sensation of having our ears pop for the first time since our flight here. As we expected, the country got drier as we passed over the crest of the Great Dividing Range, but the temperatures were much cooler than we have felt anywhere in Australia. We stopped in Lithgow to get tourist propaganda from the “super helpful” staff and were directed to a roadside area futher up the road to Bathurst for our picnic lunch. We could not find the correct place and so simply pulled over into a wooded area, spread a tarp, and then began spreading sandwich rolls with mustard and butter. Here we discovered the most foul smelling ants on the planet. Harmless little black beasties, these ants gave off an odor when squished that would stink to high heaven. Unfortunately we only made this discovery after we had dispatched a few of them who had hitchhiked a ride in the car.

Our car pointed towards Parkes and the giant radio telescope made famous by the movie “The Dish.” On the way to the town we passed through many small cattle and sheep ranching towns and got a hint of the area’s gold rush heritage. When we finally made it to Parkes it was getting towards evening, so we looked for accommodations instead of going out to the dish that night. We found a great little tourist cabin run by a friendly old guy who told us to eat at the local RSL Club. (The Retired Servicemen’s League is a rough equivilent to our American Legion.) This proved to be a good choice because, while we waited for the ten minutes before the restaurant began serving, I tried my luck at the Ned Kelly “pokie” machine and won enough money on a one dollar bet to buy dinner. My luck did not hold, though, because we then returned to the cabin where Ronald cleaned me out of matchsticks in a spirited poker game. Benjamin and Ronald settled in for the night in their submarine bunks while Jayne and I split the queen size bed in the other room.

The next morning we went out to the dish, and it was a pretty neat experience. The dish is still in operation, only now it is strictly used for radio astronomy observations. It was pretty cool to see the place where they had filmed the movie and it made me want to see the film again. From there we went south to the town of Forbes (which was the location for all the town scenes in the movie; I guess they figured Parkes itself was not pretty enough). Here at the visitor center we learned about Ben Hall, a bushranger who is as famous locally as Ned Kelly. We watched a pretty corny fifteen minute movie about Ben in the visitor’s center, and the thing reminded Jayne of the half-baked westerns I used to film in high school.

Our next stop was Cowra, a place made famous by a World War II incident involving a Japanese prisoner of war camp located there. It seems that in 1944 about a thousand Japanese soldiers decided to rush the barbed wire and break out of the place, and they launched a suicide banzi attack at two in the morning. A pair of spunky Australian guards managed to get on a machine gun and break up the party before they were killed, but about three hundred of the prisoners managed to actually get outside the perimeter of the camp. All of them were rounded up within days, and the whole story is told in the Cowra visitor’s center by a holographic projection movie that was totally cool. We visited the rose garden outside the visitor’s center, and then took a short drive to the site of the camp and the big breakout. It was a lonely hillside with only the remains of several barracks foundations, but we found a rather talkative local who would have kept us there for hours had we not made a move back to the car.


We decided to have lunch at Woodstock, but there was no evidence that Janis Joplin or Jimi Hendrix had ever been there. Here we tried a few cricket pitches after devouring more ham sandwiches and drinks. What followed next was the most heroic driving endurance performances ever achieved by Ronald, who managed to get us back over the Blue Mountains to Sydney in a heavy rainstorm. He must have a bladder of steel, and nerves of the same metal, to have piloted that car so long.

The National Park

Yesterday we went to the Royal National Park, and getting there proved to be more than half the fun. I had been wanting to see the place since our arrival, and since Sundays and public holidays were the only time a certain transportation option was available, we made up our minds to go yesterday.

We actually started the trip the night before by attending a delicious curry dinner at Ronald's house. The dinner party was in honor of Ross's fiftieth birthday, and he graciously took a lot of kidding from everyone, as well as a bottle of scotch. Ron then drove us back to Manly and spent the night on our couch so we could get an early start the next morning. The first ferry on Sundays starts at 8:45, and since we just switched to daylight savings time down here it seemed as if we had plenty of time to get to the boat.

Another seven mile voyage brought us to Circular Quay and the train station, where we bought tickets to the Loftus terminal. We rode along for quite a while, making all kinds of stops at little commuter stations that grew more simple as we headed south. Finally we got to Loftus, and according to my Lost Planet guide book, we should have been able to catch a "tram" to the Royal National Park headquarters on Sundays. It turned out to be true, but not exactly what I had imagined.

After a confused crossing of the railstation bridge, we found the "Tramway Museum" where a group of dedicated volunteers operate these vintage trolley cars they have carefully restored. Sure enough, they offered a ride to the National Park, and we hopped on the old fashioned wooden benches for the ride. The car clicked along, crossed the highway, and entered into the woods......and then stopped at a rusting, abandoned rail siding. It seemed like it was the middle of nowhere, but it turned out to be about a hundred yards from where the Park heaquarters USED to be.

Much confused marching and countermarching ensued because the place is so poorly marked. Signage doesn't seem to be a big piority for the world's second oldest national park, and we found out from a firefigher that the park headquarters were actually located about two kilometers down the "Honeymoon Trail." What followed was a great bush hike down a steep rock staircase to reach the old Victorian pleasuring grounds called Audley. Each step we took down caused us to reflect that, barring any other happy circumstance, we would have to retrace our path going UP to reach the trolley car and home. When we got to the bottom, we found a very simple headquarters facility and a small snack kiosk....hardly on scale with Mammoth Hot Springs or Old Faithful Inn. In fact, most people there were simply urbanites on a Sunday afternoon picnic, and it seemed more like a city park than anything else. Of course we only saw a fraction of this giant park, and many areas are genuine wilderness.

Our hike back involved a wilderness experience, but not one of our choosing. The lady at the park headquarters told us about an alternative trail, but we should have realized the Park's lack of adequate signs would foil this attempt. Ronald, our brave guide bedecked in genuine Indian moccasins, led us through the tangled undergrowth like a true Leatherstocking, and we managed to reach the "Honeymoon Trail" again. We climbed the steps with spirit and vigor, reaching the top in no time and ready for more action....which proved to be waiting for the trolley car and a ride home.