Kate and I spent much of the evening at the launch of Chinese New Years Celebrations.
Despite the rain, a crowd of about 5-10,000 people gathered in Belmore Park, opposite Central Station.
Officials from two levels of government – state and local – spoke about the importance of the festival as both specific to be Chinese community and to the broader Sydney community.
They also spoke about the size of the festival, the largest such festival outside Asia, and about the significant relationship between China and Australia and NSW, specifically.
Me? I just enjoyed wandering around enjoying the sights and the sounds.
Sounds which included some loud fireworks not far from us.
By day, Belmore Park is usually a pretty crappy park. The red lanterns in the trees, however, goes some way to transforming the park.
In the midst of it all, I did a live cross to Robbie Buck’s Evening Show on ABC Local Radio.
Chinese Lion
Kate watches
Lion dancers prepare
Backstage view
Media seeks cover
Kristina Keneally translated
Chinese New Year Launch in Sydney
Behind the scenes
Waiting for the great leap…
We ended the night with something to eat, properly, at Emperor’s Garden.
I learned more today about green tea than I have my entire life. Our day started with a visit to a nearby village of Mei Jia Wu, where they seem to grow nothing but tea. Amongst the things I learned included: how the different size of tea leaves produce different flavours; how the spring harvest is considered the best; how you can usually get five cups of green tea using the same leaves, how you should drink black tea in the morning, and how you should drink green tea about half an hour AFTER eating your lunch and dinner to assist in fat absorption.
Mei Jia Wu Tea Village/梅家坞
Until the “big sell” and “shopping frenzy” came at the end of the demonstration I was inclined to say this was the most interesting visit we had made to a factory/retail outlet on the trip. I’m not one for jewellery and silk, and I’m generally not one for shopping (unlike many others on the tour), but I really enjoyed visiting the village, and in particular, taking a walk out into the tea plantations themselves.
Mei Jia Wu Tea Village/梅家坞
The major part of the day involved a three-hour (or so) bus trip to Shanghai where I slept on and off and listened to some music and to podcasts.
We arrived with just enough time to spend an hour or so walking around the Shanghai Museum which I enjoyed very much. “Some of you might not like museums” our tour guide Helen said at one point, to which I softly responded with a smile, “Some of us don’t like shopping”. The two most interesting exhibitions for me were the one which featured some of the traditional clothing of some the ethnic minorities, and the one which featured some fantastic sculptures.
Shanghai MuseumShanghai MuseumShanghai Museum
Throughout the tour, there have been a few optional extras to the programs where Sue and I have been the odd ones out. While almost everyone else attended, neither of us had much of an interest, for example, in attending light and sound shows by the bloke responsible for the Beijing Olympics Opening Ceremony. Tonight I was the only one in our group who elected not to go to the acrobatics show. Sue went along, and I’m sure she enjoyed it, but, as I explained to everyone, “acrobatics are not my thing, I would have preferred a few more hours at the museum”.
So I came to the hotel early and booked in. Wow, what a fantastic room I have. It’s something like 60 square metres, has fantastic views, has a fantastic bathroom (with separate spaces for shower and toilet, and with a TV over the bathtub), and is probably the best hotel accommodation I’ve stayed in.
Realising the comfort level, I thought to myself, “I’m in the night”. I did wander out for a while though to buy a shirt, I had a swim, and paid a brief visit to a bar called “Eddy’s Bar” which was nice, and where I got chatting to a couple of locals.
One of the blokes I chatted to was called “Kevin” who told me he was moving to Australia later in the year and that he’d just “passed the test”. One of the interesting things about young Chinese men and women is their adoption of “Western Names”. That is, they “choose” a name to be known by. I didn’t dare ask if he named himself after our former Mandarin-speaking Prime Minister. I thought it was a question best left unasked.
I worked today. It was an early start, meaning I had to be at work at about 4.30am. Along the way I picked up the newspapers from the Taylor Square Newsagency. I did my job. I came home. And then I went to sleep for a while.
And then I woke up and read the news about the death of Eartha Kitt. Yeah I know, Harold Pinter has also died, but the news of the death of Eartha Kitt was far more personally interesting to me.
I first became aware of her work in the early 1980s when she released “Where Is My Man”, a very camp number written and produced by the team behind Village People. I vividly remember the first time I heard the song on the radio. It was the end of high school, and I was giving my friends Louise and Dale a lift home. And then all of a sudden it came on the radio. For whatever reason – and I’m sure you could spend ages psycho-analysing why – the song instantly resonated with me…
Over the next few years I discovered more of her back-catalogue, most of it through watching drag shows in Brisbane. I loved the dramatic and usually ironic quality in her works, especially in songs like “Old Fashioned Girl”. And she was also very “naughty” which I loved. Throughout the 80s and 90s, I kept collecting her new releases, mostly in the vein of “Where Is My Man”. Camp. Disco. Fantastic. I also began to dig deeper into her work, and to realise how important she was as a figure in the civil rights movement in America.
And then in the early 1990s, while I was working in Canberra, I remember Eartha Kitt performing there. After the show, as we walked into the Hyatt Hotel for supper, I remember walking past a colleague at the time, a bloke called Barrie Casey who already had a table. I don’t know whatever happened to Barrie, but at the time, he was quite a well known figure around Canberra. “James, how are you?”, he said to me as we walked past, looking around for a table. And then I looked at him and recognised his supper companion. “James, this is Eartha. Eartha, this is James”, he said. We smiled and said hello to each other. That was probably about the extent of the conversation, I guess. I still remember it, though, fondly, as “The Night I Met Eartha”.
“Who was Alan Harrington?”, I asked the waiter at the Charcoal Restaurant in Canberra last night. “I’ve never met him”, she told me, “But I’ve met his son. He came here from the age of one”, she added. According to the waiter, Alan Harrington lives in Queensland now, but was a regular at the restaurant for many years. He was obviously regular enough to warrant his own name stamp at the restaurant, which I was told today was one of the longest running restaurants in Canberra.
Allan Harrington
There was definitely an olde worlde feel about the Charcoal Restaurant, and that’s what probably attracted me to it in the first place. After work, I was sitting and having a glass of wine and eating some olives at a nearby bar. As I began to look for nearby places to eat, there was nothing which really excited me. Sure, there were restaurants with hats (or should have had hats according to some critics), but there were also restaurants which sounded a little dodgy. My favourite was one which described the drinks as being expensive, but that was okay since it “kept out the riff-raff”. Hehehe.
So I wandered around London Circuit, and upon discovering everything was reasonably busy, I settled for the less busy place. The place where a single man could go in, grab a table, enjoy a meal by himself, read a book, and not have to worry too much about things. That’s how I ended up at Charcoal. To my right there was a group of young blokes keen for a good steak ahead of a night out on the town. Also to my right, there was an Australian bloke and his English partner, along with her parents. In front of me there were a few couples. I didn’t get the impression they were people looking for a sophisticated night out on the town. It didn’t matter too much to me, because I just wanted a quiet meal. One of the waiters was very good, the older woman, though I thought the young bloke, probably a student, seemed a little naive.
The steak was good value. Large. Tasty. Very happy with it all, and I’d definitely recommend Charcoal Restaurant, though I’d note the wine list is reasonably expensive. “It’s popular with lawyers and barristers”, I was told today. I guess it keeps out the riff-raff :)
Steak at the Charcoal Restaurant
I’m home now, after a week of travel. When I went to Canberra on Tuesday night, it was cold and wet, and there was a fair bit of turbulence on the plane. On arriving home tonight, it was much the same, since there have been major storms and flooding in Sydney in the time since I’ve been away.
My other dining experience was at a Thai restaurant in Dickson which was very good, though I’m struggling to remember the name of.
I do, however, remember the name of the place I stayed. I won’t name it here, because that’s my style, though I will say it was on the outskirts of town. ABARE was on this week, so Canberra was pretty heavily booked. Thus, I found myself relegated to accommodation that was actually in NSW, which was nice enough, and had a good shower, had nice blankets etc. But on the downside, was on the fringe of 3g connection (1-bar), and had an unreliable taxi-service. Another woman I spoke to, who was also staying there complained about having to wait 30-45 minutes for pre-booked taxis. “That’s Canberra taxis”, I was told.
That was about the only downside on an otherwise lovely trip to the nation’s capital.
Flying home tonight from Canberra
Oh yeah, and the delays coming home tonight due to the wild weather in Sydney. Still, the people from Qantas were friendly and nice, and I think we all understood the reasons why. And of course, we were all a bit sloshed having spent an hour or two waiting at Canberra Airport.
‘Would you mind if another patient borrowed your wheelchair for a day or so? We don’t have enough stump rests.’, one of the hospital therapists asked me yesterday. After discussing I wouldn’t really require the stump rest for the next few days, and even less so thereafter, I readily agreed.
Now, with my newly acquired “Prosthetic Limb #1” (PL#1) – I haven’t given it a personal name just yet – my focus for the upcoming week revolves around familiarizing myself with it. This means daily walking sessions with the limb in the gym (with supportive bars) and each day increasing the duration of wearing it. Yesterday, it was only fifteen minutes of walking. This morning, I extended it to twenty minutes, and tomorrow’s goal is thirty minutes. Over the next week, we’ll progress to two sessions each day.
In between these sessions, there will be moments when I wear the limb without bearing any weight on the stump. Both my brain and body need this adjustment period. PL#1 is slightly heavier than my final limb, and this morning’s weigh-in revealed an increase in my overall weight from 68kg to 73kg. While the limb felt a bit “heavy” this morning, it has become quite comfortable this afternoon.
Due to the natural fluctuations in body weight throughout the day, I may need different “socks” at various times. This morning, a “thick sock” felt excessive, so we opted for two “thin socks,” which I’m continuing to wear this afternoon.
The woman who temporarily borrowed “my wheelchair” was at the gym this morning. We also had a conversation last night since her room is across from the kitchen.
Unlike my emergency situation, she underwent a voluntary lower limb amputation after enduring several years of problems.
“It’s really comforting to connect with someone in a similar situation,” she remarked, as we discussed the charity “Limbs For Life,” which I mentioned here a few weeks ago. It’s a peer support organization that provides a platform for amputees facing similar challenges to connect.
We also discovered that her daughter works with a friend of mine here at St. Vincent’s Hospital. Small world, eh? A retired nurse, she was a delight to chat with.
While I have plans for lunch with friends tomorrow, today has been a day of relaxation. I’ve caught up on the newspapers, enjoyed some sunshine, listened to some music, and worked some more on my “paint by numbers” project.
I know I should be appreciate it. I know I should like the rain. But I can tell you the vast majority of Sydney-siders I know are sick to death of the (unexpectedly) cold, wet weather we’re experiencing. I woke early this morning only because I was cold and needed another blanket for the bed. “It’s just not right”, I say.
I left the house reasonably early today, and didn’t get home until about ten-thirty tonight. When I left the house, it was fine and sunny and I was wearing shorts, thongs and a polo-shirt; and when I arrived home, I was still wearing shorts, thongs and a polo-shirt, but Sydney was in the midst of a torrential rain storm.
We don’t cope well with rain storms in Sydney, do we? And this was a particularly heavy, tropical-style rain storm, with thunder and lightning. There was one moment, tonight, standing at Taylor Square when there was a massive bolt of lightning (seemingly not too far away) which literally made me jump and run for cover.
“Big thunderclap and lightning on oxford street. That would have been a dramatic way to go!”, I tweeted at one point tonight, which resulted in a couple of great comments, including “And if it happened to you, you’d know you’d really annoyed someone ‘upstairs’!”; “especially if a church spire came hurtling towards you! Is Fred Nile practising summoning weather for March 2?” and “passed dramatically & quickly over us (obviously on way to you) – oooh! and again! Would be preferred manner of demise.”. “Made it home safely. No threat of Omen II Damien lightning scenes, thank goodness”, I later replied.
Work kept me busy for the first few hours of the day, as I had some things to do around our coverage of the 70th Anniversary of the Bombing Of Darwin. From there it was a bus trip to Bondi Junction to have my dressing done (almost fully healed – yay), and then a bus trip back over to Newtown to see a play at the New Theatre.
The Temperamentals at Sydney's New Theatre
As part of Mardi Gras, New Theatre is presenting a play called The Temperamentals. A bit like the phrase “A Friend Of Dorothy”, “Temperamental”, apparently, was a euphemism for homosexual. The play documents the founding of the “Mattachine Society”, the first “sustained” gay rights organization in America, years before Stonewall and the gay liberation movements of the 1970s.
Back in the late forties and early fifties it can’t have been easy to be gay in America. As well as all of the usual issues you might expect, you also had McCarthyism. Not only was it difficult for communists, it was also difficult for gays. Harry Hay, one of the lead characters in this true story was both a communist and gay, and later, a “radical faerie” who saw cross-dressing as a political statement.
At the beginning of the play, however, Harry was a married man who was meeting Rudi Gernreich (a refugee from Nazism who was a famous fashion designer) for casual sexual liaisons at a local church. Harry becomes politically motivated, and along with Rudi and two others form The Temperamentals, whose aim is to improve the visibility and “acceptability” of homosexuals. Rudi, by the way, supports the organisation but remains firmly in the closet, thanks, according to the play, to the advice of Judy Garland’s husband, Vincent Minelli (a gay man) that power comes through money and prestige.
The group takes on and wins a court case of one of its member who was caught/entrapped by a police officer. They soon realise, despite the win, it’s not reported in any of the newspapers, and thus it’s a win in name only.
I really enjoyed the play. It hummed along nicely with a compelling narrative, and well-developed, thoughtful characters. I thought the actors were excellent. I’d highly recommend it for both the temperamental and not so temperamental readers of this blog.
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Nice cross… and as an official “Tiger” person (1974-75 vintage) I think I can pass as an adventurous type right now! Phnom Penh apparently has a strong new year’s festival – will let you know how it turns out…
It’s the year of the tiger, it’s the cream of the fight
Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he’s watchin’ us all in the year of the tiger
Nice cross… and as an official “Tiger” person (1974-75 vintage) I think I can pass as an adventurous type right now! Phnom Penh apparently has a strong new year’s festival – will let you know how it turns out…
It’s the year of the tiger, it’s the cream of the fight
Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he’s watchin’ us all in the year of the tiger