Tying the Past to the Present

Hoo? Me?

Australia is the tenth iteration of our annual get away from winter/do some good/explore the world adventures. Previous adventures have taken us far and wide; usually to third world nations, sometimes second. A confluence of circumstance has landed us in Britain's most famous penal colony. Two and a half decades ago, when the PQ was in power, Montreal was on its knees, Trev was being treated for ITP and I had turned 40 and was miserable. Lori and I discussed the notion of moving out of Dodge. Oz was high on the list. The only negative, and a big one it was, pertained to the distance away from family and friends. And the Habs. We ended up sticking around (sorry Tucson) but promised ourselves an eventual visit.

Love the Desert

Our dear friend Francis invited a group of friends to celebrate a milestone birthday with him and his family in Sydney. Previous voyages with him and those close to him have been extraordinarily fun, stimulating and adventurous.

Our previous trips often had one or more Aussies joining in on the community service gigs. We developed close and long lasting relationships with many of them, which we have kept alive from afar. Say what you will about Facebook but it has been a convenient vehicle to remain in touch, wish birthday greetings, and share common interests. All of the ingredients were in place to make an Australian stew. Truth be told, as a tenth anniversary celebration, it wasn't bad having hot and cold running water, paved roads, and a language that was more or less comprehensible, mate.

Esplanade Hotel, Freemantle

So, in addition to touring amazing sights east, west, and central (plus New Zealand's North Island) we afforded ourselves the opportunity to rekindle relationships with individuals met in such disparate nations as Peru, Colombia, and Laos. Seeing the geographical, architectural and biological diversities of a unique and isolated ecosystem is rewarding in and of itself. But the true bonus has been the hospitality shown us by our special friends. We've been houseguests, shared meals, and had exposure to daily life and local charms that are rarely afforded to tourists. We are eternally grateful for these new experiences and the friendships.

Peru, 2011. Volunteer work consisted of building a school for pre-K kids in Cusco, elevation 12,000 feet. Jonathan, an academic from Melbourne, was on my work detail. Keep in mind that all work was done by hand, power tools being considered a luxury. One of my most vivid recollections had our foreman send Jonathan and I down the road to pick up some cement powder from the local distribution centre. We wheeled our barrows down the slight incline and loaded them with about 300 pounds of cement, each. The city elders determined that a school for poor kids should, at least, have a view. The site was located 2,000 feet higher than the town. So imagine the two scrawny Jews pushing 300 pounds of cement up the gentle incline, which two steps in became the 'incline from hell'; nothing gentle about it. Gasping for air at 14,000 feet, the half kilometer journey was significantly more difficult than climbing Machu Picchu a couple of weeks later. It took well over half an hour to make that climb and I think that my heart could have damaged my rib cage as a result of the exertion. Lori and I caught up with Jonathan and his other half Anna in Sydney. Reliving the memory over Thai food followed by ice cream with them was a great journey back in time.

Annie lives in West Australia in Dunsborough, a small town three hours south of Perth. 

Our initial plans were to spend three days in and around Perth, and perhaps meet her daughter Oakley with whom she had plans to see Grease on the Saturday. Arriving at the airport in Alice Springs (read A Town Like Alice, a wonderful post WWII novel by Neville Shute) to fly Perthwards, we were surprised to learn that we were not booked on the flight. It seems that we were at the airport on Wednesday but our flight was for Thursday. We thought it was Thursday but that's what a carefree holiday and nearly 50 degree heat can do to you. So we changed itineraries (shout out to Lori, she is the best 'roll with the punches traveler a husband could ask for) arriving 24 hours early. The twist of fate created an entire shift in plans. Since no hotels were booked (we made reservations on the fly in every city), we ended up staying with Annie in her home town of Dunsborough, met up with her friends and family, had incredible beach and vineyard visits, watched Bohemian Rhapsody under the stars at a classic venue built in the '30s, got to snorkel at the end of the longest pier in the Southern Hemisphere, danced Forro, 

and relived our shared experiences of last year in Colombia. Our time together finished up in Perth where we had a lovely last dinner together. Special bonus was the chance to meet  her daughter, prior to them heading off to theatre, who we had heard so much about.

Final stop on our less than whirlwind tour was Brisbane, which is nestled between two very different coasts - Sunshine and Gold. The Gold Coast is the ritzy part of town, south of the state capital. The Sunshine Coast, north of Brizzie, is more sedate and farmed. Jacinta, or Jazza as she is known to one and all, was part of our team in Laos, along with Olivia from previous post. Both of them were tall redheads who enjoyed 'taking the piss out' of me; incessantly. I was teased, goaded, mocked, and made fun of to no end. And I have no idea why. I am a victim. Jazza lives with her dad and brother. After picking us up from the airport, we drove an hour northward and were welcomed by dad with a nice but reserved 'how do you do', accompanied by a bottle (or two) of Great Northern Lager. Aussies are more like Canadians than any other nationality we've met. Friendly but reserved until they've had a chance to get to know you. Then the warmth and humour follow in quick pursuit. Two nights were spent in a home built by the hand of her dad, Larry, a 'tradie' 

whose skills obviously went way beyond plumbing. Tradespeople are revered in Oz. Being a tradie is an honourable way to make a living and greatly appreciated when the lights go out and  the nearest commercial electrician, except for your cousin next door, is 75 kilometres away.

Breakfast the next morning was in a little beach town called Noosa. The food was great as was the town. Posting our mini stop on Facebook, Brett, the person who ran the reforestation and lemur acclimation program in Madagascar that Lori and I participated in a few years back, was so excited to read of our current adventures there. His family came from Noosa. He was tickled that we were actually spending time there. The hike that followed, along the beach and up above it, revealed further vistas that equaled the sights seen with Annie on the west coast. One of the odder sensations was looking eastward to see the Pacific Ocean. Wildlife, including a non-zooed koala, were amongst the highlights. We also received lectures about the most feared animal in Australia. Not the Redback Spider, not the Lowlands Copperhead snake, not the Box Jellyfish, not even the Great White Shark. Here folks fear the Magpie.

The Deadly Magpie

It is a black and white bird the size of a crow that will swoop and peck you on the head. People wear helmets with forks glued upright on them while bicycling to prevent such attacks. 

Day two was a visit to the Australian Zoo, founded by Steve 'Crikey' Irwin of blessed memory. More of an animal enclosure/refuge centre than a zoo, we bore witness to birds, 

reptiles, 

Lizard's tail is same shape as its head. Confuses predators, especially PK.

 Art Imitating Life

Life Imitating Art

and beasts such as koalas (pettable),

Koala in Tree

kangaroos (feedable) 

wallabies (cuteable), wombats (weirdable) 

and other stuff native to this remarkable country only.

The only thing more colourful and stunning than the wildlife we saw was the artistic interpretation of same as appeared on Jazza'a left arm and legs. 

The repartee that existed back in southeast Asia remained in place. We had a great time chiding each other and although we had only spent two weeks together four years back, it was as if we had been in constant touch. Lori was pleased to have rekindled with another ally. 

So now we are sitting at Beijing Airport, the notion of this fantasy holiday coming to an end. Highly suggest that if possible, you make it a point to visit this paradisiacal part of the world. And if you've already been here, good on ya', mate.

Uluru

Good eye

Emu

Now and again one is presented with an opportunity to witness the glory of the planet. Sometimes it is a place of exceptional spirituality. 

The Olgas, or Kata Tjuta, Aboriginal  holy Site

Other times it may be a great museum. Or it can be a pure geographic spectacularization. When it coms to Uluru, it is a synthesis of all of the above. Our boy Trevor hung out here years back, living with the aboriginals. Lori and I were deeply taken by his communications from this unique spot. 

Uluru = Jerusalem, Lourdes, the Taj Mahal, Benares, Stonehenge, etc. At all of these spots there is a compelling and palpable magic. 

Bottom line - Maori, Aussie aboriginals, Iroquois, Aztec, etc., don’t sell these guys short.

More than just Ants and Termite Issues

Example -  two years back, near to Uluru, (also known as Ayer’s Rock to the spiritually unenlightened) the marketing guys decided to put together a balloon type viewing point. About 5 kilometres away from the holy rock, several hundred grand was spent for a Disneyesque viewing platform. Feasibility studies were completed. Economic analyses positive. It was a financial ‘can’t miss’. Two weeks after  its opening the facility was struck by lightening, rendering the tourist traps a pile of burned and melted rubble. The heap remains on site, a testament to hubris. Don’t fuck with these guys. 

Ever get the feeling that someone is looking over your shoulder?

Every year, despite warnings to not take a souvenir rock home with you and to avoid photographing certain ultra-holy sections of the rock, people abuse. 

The amazing corollary to all this is that 350 people per year return rocks, dust, photos, etc. from the sight, citing an extraordinary run of bad luck since the filtching. While I have amassed a collection of stones and pebbles from places such as Machu Pichu, the Western Wall, Madagascar burial grounds, etc., something very strong in this place said ”Look, but don’t touch”. I obeyed; for once.

The tour we took, pimped the incredible beauty of the Uluru sunset. Unfortunately, the sunset hype has been tagged with what I refer to as the Mona Lisa Syndrome. This personal viewpoint is based on having been told for years how small the famous portrait was. When I ultimately visited the Louvre in 1977 I was astounded at how large Miss Giaconda was. The hype had led me to believe that Mona was the size of a large postage stamp. The colours that reflected off the mountain at sunset were OK at best. Arizona and the California desert has it beat, hands down.

 This does nothing to diminish the sanctity and magnificence of Uluru.  Don’t go for the light show; go for the moment. The legends which explain the specific and unique characteristics of the holy site are culturally fascinating. the aboriginals have been hanging out here for 35,000 years, give or taker a millennia or two. They have no written language, relying on the oral tradition to pass down their history. 

Ancient Pictograms in caves

Numbers are also not de rigeur, Their number system does not go beyond three. Example - “Hey _____ (insert Aboriginal name here), how many kangaroos out there?” “Let me count. One, two, three, many.” 

There are unusual marking on the rock and surrounding areas. Some are caused by nature, others reflect pictographs going back that pre-date Picasso. Here is my take on the legends - may the gods forgive me. Two large fissures and a dark serpentine track on the side of the mountain are the result of a battle between two of the Creators. The Creators are the folks who embodies transmographic beings back in the day. The story is a compelling legend, as are all of the tales surrounding the specific and unique aspects of Uluru.

Here is Bruce the cynic’s interpretation. By way of an old joke. A man is walking in the woods. He sees numerous arrows in various trees. All of them are dead centre of bullseyes painted on the trees. Impressed by the astounding marksmanship, he eventually happens across a young boy, bow and arrow in hand.You’re aim is incredible”, he states. “How do you do this?” The boy answers “I shoot the arrow into the tree and then draw the target around the arrow”. 

Same deal for Uluru. The unique aspects of the rock are already there. The legends were created after the fact to explain/justify the physicality of Tyler placer. That said, I refuse to dismiss the legends 100% out of hand. We live on a strange planet.

Quite the 28 Hours

Getting up before 9:00 has been challenging since the age of six. Yesterday had all the markings of a marathon. Leaving Lori at the third Olovo Hotel  this time in Melbourne (unsolicited pitch - if you are ever traveling to a place served by Olovo, book your stay there. You can thank me later) I climbed aboard the tram at 7:45  heading toward the car rental place. Full disclosure - I arrived tat Thrifty 10 minutes late since, in my early morning stupor, I had lined up at the tram stop only to realize that I was on the northbound platform on the wrong side of the road, forgetting that everything in this place is backwards.

Car in hand, metaphorically speaking, it wasn’t a dinky toy, I headed back to Olovo to gather my beloved and her luggage, which was becoming heavier every day, replete with pamphlets, maps, guides, brochures of every place we visited, walked past, thought of, planned to see but didn’t get to, menus, business cards, boarding passes, swipe cards, bottle labels, candy wrappers, matches, place mats, used straws (not the plastic kind), and other unimportant stuff. Plan A was to traverse the entire length of the Great Ocean Road. It was great. This next bit of info may not come a surprise to the seasoned traveler but in order to access that road we had to drive to the coast. Happily the way to the water went directly through Geelong (pronounced je-long), the home of Olivia, one of the most endearing and fun (to tease) volunteer travel mates from our Laos/Cambodia expedition of three years back. Olivia is now hitched to Josh, 

who she was dating when we were last together.They have recently purchased a new house, have a puppy and are looking forward to having a family together. Ringing their bell and spending an hour catching up with old mates resonated so nicely. We had a similar experience in Sydney a few weeks back, having lunch with Jonathan who we did volunteering with in Peru years ago, also with his new spouse Anna. Apparently, Lori and I inspire people to wed, being the portraits of matrimonial bliss that we are.

We arrived in Adelaide at 2:30 AM today, having covered 1,000 or so kilometers in the process. Here's how - 

With fears of impending death from head on collisions finally put to rest, I decided to double down on 'fear of driving off a cliff'. 

The Great Ocean Drive is exactly that - great; both in terms of length and grandeur. It is a long and winding road that does not lead to my door. It runs along the coast offering up vista after vista of magnificent cliffs, 

turquoise water breaking over limestone shoals 

and otherworldly vegetation, or as some say, begetation.

Below is what caused a 45 minute traffic delay through the town of Lorne, named after my old, dear friend. See 2,500 salmon wannabes complete the annual Pier to Pub Crawl. Sponsored by AA.

The ride extends 243 km, which may not seem so far when driving on the 40, 87, the M1, etc. But when it is single lane around some serious curvature, up hill and down dale, driving on the wrong side of the road, which, given that the edge of the cliff was crumbling under my left tyres has two meanings, it ain't exactly pedal to the metal. We zigged and zagged our way through and about. (Hey, I'm stahtin' to gab like 'em. Apparently, the Lingo ate my Diction) We covered about two thirds of the GOC in a few hours. Done properly it should be a three day adventure/beauty tour.. 

We turned inland at The Twelve Apostles. 

A famous, and justifiably so, landmark in the Indian Ocean. Sedimentary rocks, mostly limestone and some sand, I'd hazahd a gess. Columns of eroded rock just offshore standing about 50 meters tall. Here comes the fun part. There are now Eight apostles, with Davey, Peter, Mike, and Mickey having been eroded out of existence and ending up dramatically crashing down into the sea and the Earth, towards Hell. If these rocks are not the perfect metaphor for religion as practiced by most individuals on this good planet, then shut my mouth and call me a wallaby. 

Two of the 12; Bert & Ernie

PS To this point we have been in Oz for just over a month and have seen exactly ZERO kangaroos. For those wanting a visual recapturization of the entire drive, Lori has a picture of every cave, every wave, every bluff with none of my guff. So pull up for a viewing session that will make the 11 hours driven by me to this point feel like the intro. 

North and then west through the vineyards of Penfolds, Coonawara, Lindeman as the sun began to set, around 9:00, celebrating 12 hours of togetherness. I was feeling grand and felt that we could get ourselves to Adelaide on time to check in for a few hours of sleep near the airport and catch the 10:25 to Alice Springs. From where I am writing you this now. I do not recall many or even any times in my life that showed a temperature variation between home and here as we are presently experiencing. App says Montreal -22. It was +42 an hour or two ago. This is the original $64,000 question. Did you ever wonder why 64 is such a popular number? 8 squared - the Chinese like that. A great song sung by Paul, squares on a chess board, my age, enough of that.

So this long and boring schpiel is supposed to stylistically reflect the dark, long, late ride from Keith to Adelaide (9:06 PM- 2:15AM, grand total 17 hours). Keith, boasting a population nearing 1,500, was the largest stop off point between us and the suburbs of Adelaide. But they do have police. Spoiler Alert - They have not cost me money, I have not been arrested. Doing 87km in a 60km zone at home may land you an obstruction of traffic flow citation. In the State of Australia it will land you a $400+ fine, 6 demerits, 

and an automatic breathalyzer test, which I passed with flying colours following a wonderful conversation with a man who was both an officer and a gentleman. Let me off after an interesting conversation. He imparted unforgettable advice. When I asked him, in the tune of Steely Dan, if the 'roos come out at night. He replied: "Don't swerve". And to not put too fine a point on the matter, he added the following "Go right through them". How bout them Saints, Stevo!

Landing back in Oz from NZ the other day, I was non-too pleased seeing a New Zealand Aviation Security Service label affixed to my bag. Like myself, this particular suitcase has gone places. Having seen these cute leashed puppies in the hands of not equally cute customs officers gave me pause for concern. 

PSA - if you carry a plug-in battery pack when you travel - hand luggage. The love letter from the NZASS advised me that they had confiscated my charger. Some hypocritical customs agent who is also probably selling confiscated weed out of his basement as well as charging devices at a rate that likely rivals Apple. Could have been worse.

And we saw two kangaroos on the road to Adelaide. More precisely, we saw two live kangaroos and about a dozen on the road.

Quite the 48 Hours

Melbourne started off as Meh-lbourne. The CBD (Central Business District) was a hodgepodge of conflicting architectural styles, fighting with each other for visual and artistic prominence. Public transport is excellent with an efficient use of electric trams (or street cars, in the vernacular of my youth), buses, and trains. Clean, efficient, and swipe card accessibility showcased modern urban transportation. Within the central core of the city, public access is free. 

Melbourne at Night

Melbourne by Day

The city is struggling with growth, the same way that a teenager bursts out of his clothes every 3 months or so. Three hundred additional people a day is creating a plethora of high rise apartments and condos, choking off the skyline. There are numerous attractive edifices dating back to the good old days of colonization but I fear that their days may be numbered.

We found Melbourne to be a bit on the sterile side, despite having spent a good chunk of our first day on an Urban Art (read graffiti) tour of downtown alleys. 

Me and Uncle Frank

Perhaps a 21st century version of Downton Abbey? 

Happily Ever After?

Some of the work was excellent, but as an overall presentation, Medellin, Tel Aviv, and Montreal are head and shoulders above. 

Carved from Foam. Pretty Cool

Smiling bit of Recyclage

Day 2 took us through the Culture Museum, highlighting the history and plight of the aboriginals. Same story, different continent. Improvement is underway but the challenges faced by these proud peoples mirrors the problems and challenges faced by our own native populous in Canada.

Boat Sails

Former Client

Barramundi inlay; Samoa? New Guinea? Local 

Having had enough with the culture-vulture experience, we headed to what would be familiar type stomping grounds. 

Fitzroy is one of Melbourne’s original neighbourhoods. The age and character of the properties, neglected for many years but currently being dusted with magic sparkles by the Genie of Gentrification housed avant-garde fashion boutiques, art galleries, trend setting restaurants, funky hotels and all the other clichéd appurtenances associated with what goes down in cities undergoing a rebirth.

Hanging out on a street corner. Couch is made of tiles. Not as comfy as it looks.

Hair Dresser

Ahhh Debbie

Dumplings are the flavour of the month in Melbourne. Literally. Pork dumplings and chilli spiced prawns were lunch. Not a Chabadnick in site. Washed down with a bottle of Singapore’s notorious Tiger Beer, the meal was a traveler’s delight.

Beach Time

With bathing suits on under our shorts, we hopped (speaking of which it took us over a month to spot our first kangaroo; more on that later) on the tram and headed across town to the sands of St. Kilda for a tan booster. 

African PushmePullyou

The amount of ink on display rivals the contents of the Library of Congress. It does give an excuse to yours truly when accused of ogling; I reply that “I’m just trying to read the fine print”. Lame, but better than getting the stuffing beaten out of me by her muscle bound BF who probably doesn’t even understand the word ‘reading’, let alone know how to. Not jealous. Not very jealous. Somewhat jealous. 

The other highlight of St. Kilda is the nightly return of the local penguin troop. After a day of stuffing their gullets in the sea they return to roost on the rocks of the pier. Penguins mate forever with the same partner. When they state (I am fluent in Penguinese) that their relationship is on the rocks it has an entirely different connotation. 

Waiting for Sydney and Evgeni

Several hundred penguin spotters, us amongst, settled in to a viewing spot on the pier before dusk waiting for them to appier. Two hours of whatever time remains in my life were spent and ultimately rewarded with a brief encounter with one little penguin, about 30 cm tall who swam to the shore, waddled under the viewing path, and clambered up the rocks. 

If you squint, you can make out the penguin standing on the lower rock, in front of the upper.

This is the Hollywood version; not taken by us.

What I thought was a second penguin approaching turned out to be a long, skinny water rat that shares living spaces with the tuxedoed birds. It did not stop to pose.

OK, so that wasn’t a chronicle of 48 hours. Maybe 20 in total. But the past 2 days have been action packed and I do not want to tax your attention span, dear reader. I’m on a roll so I will divide this epistle (next blog contains the apostle) in two. You can read this now and stop, catching up to the next 28 hours in part two or keep on going. I suggest the latter, in the spirit of what the next instalment will offer up.