Do Nothing Day
After yesterday’s busy day, and in preparation for the next month of travelling, I hung around the house, read, napped, watched television, and not much else.
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Karratha
I was told before leaving Perth that Karratha was like an ordinary working class “new suburb” plonked straight on an unattractive mud flat.
How unkind, I thought. It was my job to prove them wrong, to discover the beauty of Karratha. Indeed, the flight from Perth – which takes about two and a quarter hours – is a spectacular one offering amazing views of the landscape, mostly due to the absence of cloud for most of the trip.
For a fair distance you travel over massive salt pans. Actually, the area was looking quite good, due to the massive amount of rain associated with the two most recent cyclones. As you fly over the town, it looks spectacular from the air, as you fly close over the coastal estuaries and mud flats. Yes, mud flats.
The town itself was planned and constructed in the late 60s to meet the accommodation needs of Hamersley Iron, with the ultimate goal being the establishment of a self-supporting city of 30,000. The populaton is currently about 10,000.
My friends were right. Karratha is very unatttactive. There is no shopping centre per se except for the one which could exist in virtually any Australian town, although this one is particularly unatttactive, although I did manage to pick up a couple of cheap shirts. The price of food and coffee, however, was outrageous. $3.70 for a flat white is unacceptable, but also unavoidable.
And although it’s plonked on a mud flat, you can’t actually see the ocean from town since there is a great bloody mound of rocks separating the two. Yes, I know they’re three billion years old and they contain fossilised evidence of the earliest known life… but.. it would be nice to see the coast.. except it’s a several kilometres from Karratha to the coast with the mud flats separating the two!
Part of the location issue may be its fear of cyclones, as they come through regularly, and the hope that a great pile of rocks might help protect the town, but I’m told it does make for an oppresive, enclosed environment for much of the year.
It would have been great to travel around the area, which is apparently gorgeous, but my work commitments were strong, and aside from a short trip to Dampier (the drive is spectacular) this wasn’t a holiday at all, but a working visit.
If I’d had time to holiday, it would have been great to go out to the nearby archipelago. But that’s also how many of the visitors to the area would also perceive of the town due to the strong culture of “fly in, fly out”. But it may also be the ethic of the locals too, as when I asked several where they go to swim, they said, “the pool”.
Bridges and Views
The other day, as I was crossing the Ballina Street Bridge in Lismore, I stopped to take a photograph.
“You should take some photographs from the southside”, a bloke crossing the bridge stopped to say to me. “You get to see some great views of the rowing club”, he added.
And so that’s what I did today.
But it wasn’t easy to decide where and how I should take these photographs, as the southside of the river doesn’t have the same level of access as the town side.
Traditionally, the southside has been dominated by the railway lines and factories, and so it’s quite hard to know exactly where the best views would be obtained, or even accessed. Being a little unsure, I headed down Union Street, and turned right into NORCO Lane, where I discovered both the “Men’s Shed” and a demolition company with a sign firmly declaring it private property.
Thanks to Google Maps, I eventually figured the best view could be afforded much further down Union Street, closer to Coleman’s Bridge (known locally as “The Double Bridges”), where you can get much closer to the river itself.
It was a terrific adventure to embark upon, and it took me to some of the backroads of South Lismore I’ve never previously visited.
While I was in the area, I took a closer look at the old railway bridge that connected North and South Lismore.
The last time I crossed the bridge was about 10 years ago, and I came close to plummeting into the river below, as much of the timber structure is deteriorating.
It’s nice to see they’ve erected fences to stop idiots such as myself from attempting to cross.
Tropical Fruits Street Parade
“Is that it? Is that all there is?”, I overhead some visitors say, a bit surprised at how “short” this year’s Tropical Fruits Street Parade was. I was a little inclined to agree, as I remembered the last parade I attended seemed to be a little larger, and there were more people on the streets watching.
https://thelimbshift.com/2016/12/29/tropical-fruits-parade-and-launch/ 2016
Bra Boys
The idea this film should somehow fit within the genre of “documentary” is incredibly naive. And yet, oddly enough, I’ve had conversations in the last week with people who have seen the film, and I’ve read a number of dismissive reviews from people, who all seem to have missed the point. It’s not a documentary, it’s not even an “essay of argument”. It couldn’t possibly be when the film-maker is, himself, a member of “The Bra Boys”
I mean I understand the concern that because the film “looks” like a documentary, many unsuspecting viewers will assume an inherent truth in what is being presented. I think it’s incredibly patronising, however, to presume the audience for this film couldn’t put two and two together. That said, the film has attracted the attention of a number of celebrities, and Russell Crowe (also one of the executive producers) has provided the film’s narration. In scenes reminiscent of the debate about whether or not the media should have taken an interest in the writings of “Chopper Read”, Sydney police have urged celebrities against getting caught up in “The Bra Boys Hype”.
And why has this occured? Perhaps there’s something about our culture, or about humanity more generally, that wants to assume the best in people. The film provides some genuine insight into the fairly difficult upbring of the Aberton Boys, as they were mostly raised by their maternal grandmother, since their mother was a heroin addict with four sons to three different fathers.
The film also seeks to present “The Bra Boys” in a positive light by highlighting the historical context in which the group emerged. With bans on surfing, a group of local surfers dressed in unusual costumes, leading Jai Aberton to declare the Australian quintessentialism of their response as an example of where “Aussie surf culture has always had larrikinism to it”.
Of course, this could have been one of those “tell all” films, where the insider becomes the outsider and delivers uncomfortable personal truths. But it’s not. The film also doesn’t provide much in the way of personal reflection. Why blame one individual – the standover character, Anthony Henz – for all of the “trouble” associated with the group? Where’s the sense of personal responsibility? Would this film have bee more insightful had it been made when they were older, armed (hopefully) with a greater sense of self-awareness.
But like a Michael Moore film, or even the recent Al Gore movie, it’s important to remember this is not a documentary. Unlike those two film-makers, however, there’s an obvious self-interest in the reasons for this films existence.
As a film, it’s also far too long and gets boring in parts.