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...