“I don’t mind if we get wet. I love getting rained on”, I said to Kate as we sat on the steps of the Sydney Opera House. In hindsight, I probably should have checked the weather before leaving the house, but since I wearing shorts, I figured getting wet wouldn’t be much of a problem. And besides that, it was a great thing to be part of, the 25th anniversary performance by Bangarra Dance Theatre.
Kate arrived earlier than I did, and so secured us terrific seats in the front row. For a couple of hours we sat there, chatted, ate and drank a little, as we watched and waited for the show to commence.
As I checked the weather radar, we overheard a couple of security guards chatting, offering their thoughts on the likelihood (or rather unlikelihood) of the show going ahead. For a while it didn’t look good. On two or three occasions cleaners came on stage to mop off the water. Even that had a certain theatricality about it. “You could put that in a theatre, charge thirty bucks, and say it’s edgy”, I joked.
The sheer risk of electrocution for the band and injury for the dancers meant they were only about to deliver a much scaled down version of what was planned. Nonetheless, it was a great evening, and one we (and many others) enjoyed very much.
Choregoraphed cleaning ahead of the Bangarra Dance Theatre 25th celebration at Sydney Opera HouseBangarra Dance Theatre at Sydney Opera HouseBangarra Dance Theatre at Sydney Opera House
How frustrating must it be to be a flight attendant? In the front row of six, there were only two of us paying any attention to the flight attendant’s instructions for the emergency row. The woman to my right was engrossed in her book, the man next to her was going through photographs on his mobile phone. And to the left, there were two with their eyes closed, while only one other person was paying attention. In the event of an emergency, I guess it was just me and one other who would be saving the lives of others.
I was on a flight back to Sydney, having spent the last ten days in Lismore.
Six weeks on from the “biggest flood”, followed by another “big flood” Lismore remains in a desperate state. Though many would like to believe a flood can be easily cleaned up with a mop and bucket, the events that have occurred are beyond that of a flood. Locally, people are describing it not so much as a flood, but as a cyclone or a tsunami.
One of a number of houses knocked off its stilts. This needs more than a mop!
I went for a walk around the “main block” yesterday and there’s only a handful of shops that have resumed business. In the main CBD, there are only two clothing stores that are open (selling limited items), a couple of coffee shops, and a couple of bottle shops. The bottle shops are selling some beer that went through the flood. Not so much of an issue, but we made a purchase a few days which had residual mud under the ring pull. I don’t mind so much, though you might imagine others might feel quite strongly. In case you’re wondering, they refer to it upfront as “flood beer”.
Woodlark Street, Lismore
Molesworth Street, Lismore
I also went for a walk down by the riverside. Last year, while staying in Lismore, you might recall I would often go down by the riverside for some exercise/relaxation. Though you would often see people walking their dogs, there were very few people there yesterday. A couple of kids on their bikes stopped and said hello, along with a couple of women. Twelve months ago, they might not have said hello, but yesterday they were keen for a chat. Along the riverbank, the soil remains sodden, and the devastation of fast-moving river currents remains evident in the grasslands.
Nearby, the old RSL Club (more recently a childcare centre) was being demolished. The water in the nearby swimming pool was still brown. And the city bowling club remained a mess. I read the other day they’ve decided to close down the club and distribute funds amongst members.
On the radio this morning, I heard an academic from Southern Cross University talk about recommendations to relocate the “main functions” of the CBD to the land currently occupied by the East Lismore Golf Course. The land is above a 15-metre flood (the recent flood made it to 14 metres).
On the surface, that makes a lot of sense, though it’s going to take a lot of commitment (and dollars!) for that to occur. Too many “experts,” think it’s a simple case of moving the businesses and shops to a higher location, without thinking through who is going to pay for it to happen.
All throughout Lismore, there is public art, featuring hearts. The heart is part of the Lismore City Council logo and now appears on homes, shops, and in the street, more generally.
In locations like North and South Lismore, there are elderly residents on low incomes who either own or rent and who simply can’t afford to move.
And then there’s the “Vicar Of Dibley” factor. There was an episode of that wonderful British TV series, where the people of Dibley were offered incentives to move to a new location, in the midst of a proposal to flood Dibley. Despite the offerings, they decided Dibley was their home, and the connections were more important than a new house.
As I wrote about last year during the months I lived back in South Lismore, there’s a strong community connection too. Even though I knew South Lismore could flood, there’s part of me that’s still so strongly connected to this community, that makes me think I could possibly still buy a house and live there. But, of course, I’m dreamin’.
Nonetheless, Pat and Jack want to move home. Their house is uninhabitable right now, but they still feel more comfortable in a flood-impacted house in the middle of town than living on the outskirts of a Lismore suburb.
My niece and nephew (not a couple) have already moved back home. Their existence is more like “camping” than living, with limited power. They’re not the only ones who’ve done this. When the second flood came through, it’s estimated that 25% of people who lived through the first flood, were already back home.
It doesn’t make sense to anyone from anywhere else. “The town has got to move”, friends and colleagues from elsewhere have said to me. In reply, I’ve told them it’s not that simple. If like me and many others you’ve lived through previous floods, and you have a house on stilts (built above the 1973 flood level), you still have a feeling you can survive again.
During the 2017 flood, Nancy was insistent that she stayed at home in South Lismore. “I’ve lived through 54, 74 and others, and there’s no need to move out this time”, she said. We reminded her she was much younger then, and couldn’t afford the same luxuries in her 70s as she enjoyed in her 40s.
That’s likely something I’ll need to consider also. East Lismore has always been on my list of possible places to live in Lismore, and if that’s where the CBD moves to, maybe that will make sense for me too.
I suppose I get it from my dad, but I’ve always been a bit of a hoarder. Just like my dad, my garage is full of unopened boxes containing goodness knows what. A couple of the boxes, for example, remain unopened from when I left Brisbane at the beginning of 1988. I’d like to think I know what’s in them, and I definitely know one contains some 45 records, but the others are a mystery.
Along with this, there’s my interest in second hand goods. While some people find second-hand things horrid, I quite like them. I have the idea that if someone has already owned them, they’ve already proven their utility. Last year, for example I bought the best pair of jeans I’ve ever owned from a second hand store at Coonamble in Western NSW. While I normally need to have the legs shortened (always a pain in the arse), the person who owned these jeans was clearly the same height and weight as myself, meaning no alterations were necessary. Twelve months later, they still fit perfectly and they cost just $2. I’ve toyed with the idea of seeing if I could order another pair by mail order. I also bought some second hand sox and a great pair of great Calvin Klein underpants which also fitted perfectly (in all the right places), but let’s not have a discussion about second hand underwear, because I’ve already had that debate with people who were appalled.
My friends recognise this. Every year or so, for example, my friend Sue attempts to throw out some of my collected treasures. Inevitabily, this has lead to an argument, so she no longer bothers. And when I was living with Damien, I arrived home one night with a set of 1960s encyclopedias I’d found in the laneway. Knocking on the door, I said, “Let me in, I need your help with something”. Knowingly, he replied, “You’ve got those fucking encylopedias, haven’t you?”.
But I’m getting better at ridding my life of clutter. Recently at work, for example I threw out several sulo bins of rubbish from my office. Admittedly most of it wasn’t mine – it was junk inherited from other people who’ve had the office who haven’t bothered to clean up – but a fair amount of it was. The last time I threw out so much was four or five years ago, and generally speaking I find I can only do it, by first getting rid of the storage items. The first time, I had to slice my workstation in two (not as bad as it sounds); the last time, I threw out some old book-cases.
And last night, I was able to resist this little treasure I discovered in the laneway behind home. You probably need to click on the image to take a closer look to realise what they are. And I apologise, in advance, for the poor quality image captured at night on my mobile phone, but I just had to grab a photograph because I just knew they’d be gone today. ‘
Despite knowing this, I resisted them. Of course, a couple of years ago I would have thought these leather chairs made from forty-four gallon drum frames would have looked great on the balcony. I might have even thought they were discarded items by an up and coming artist that would one day be worth millions of dollars. But now I realise they’re just crap and I don’t need them in my life.
I went looking for a book today in my hallway cupboard that contains, quite frankly, nothing more than a lot of junk. There are various bits of seemingly important paper, there are vinyl records, there’s a can of soup (WTF?), there are books that aren’t interesting enough to have on the shelves, and there are lots of old magazines.
In the end, I couldn’t find the book I was after, but I did spend an hour or so going through the magazines. There were classic 1980s magazines like “The Face” (which I collected religiously from its inception until almost the end), classic 1990s magazines like “Attitude” and more recently “Delicious Magazine”.
In some ways it was a brief journey through my life, reflecting on how interesting and important magazines once were to me, in contrast to now. The only time I ever read a magazine now is in a take-away or at the hair-dresser. And then I never read anything of substance. The crappier the better.
But back in the 1980s, buying and reading magazines like “The Face” was really important to me. Each month I’d anxiously await the latest copy, devouring it over several hours. With news about fashion, club culture, etc from the United Kingdom, it was a “guilty pleasure” for me, allowing me an insight into a world I couldn’t experience when I lived in Brisbane, Bourke, Renmark or Wagga. For a young lad from the bush, it was pretty bloody exotic.
The Face magazine, 200th edition.
And I loved it! And for years I would keep “The Face”, ordered month-by-month on my bookcase, as if it was an encyclopedia of style and taste.
In its time it was a great magazine. But then I lost interest in fashion (that shouldn’t surprise you), and the music and the artists they spoke about became less and less interesting, and I had other things in my life, so I stopped buying it. And then sometime in the last few years, it just folded. I don’t remember when.
I’m not sure how many people read “The Face” in Australia. I think the only time it ever really got much press here was when it was sued by Jason Donovan when it was suggested by the magazine he was not entirely heterosexual.
I noticed at work the other day Jason has a new CD featuring cover versions of a range of classic 60s songs, including a reworked version of his hit “Sealed With A Kiss”. With Jason on the comeback trail, maybe it’s time for “The Face” to re-emerge?
With recent moves for Catalan political independence, it’s an interesting time to be in Barcelona. In common with our own “national day” there were lots of people walking around the city draped in the national flag. In stark contrast, the Catalan flag dominated the buildings, often accompanied by a sign with some kind of political statement about democracy. Overhead, a lone helicopter hovered as people walked through the city.
Around us there were lots of police. Though it’s hard to be sure how much of the police presence related to political concerns, and how much of it related to the kind of crowd control measures we would also see back home on our own “national day”. A day which has its own strong political element also.
The date for any “national day” will never suit everyone, I guess, and so much of it needs to be seen in context of how and why it was declared, and how it’s celebrated. What anniversary does the date commemorate? Is it a date that unites or divides?
“I wonder why they celebrate Columbus’ landing in America as their national day”, I said to Sue as we walked through the streets yesterday. “Why would you celebrate that day, and not, the creation of a constitution, or a declaration of independence, or something like that?”, I thought to myself.
Thanks to Wikipedia, here’s the reason:
The anniversary of Columbus’ landing in the New World on October 12, 1492, is widely celebrated throughout the Americas; it is known as Columbus Day in the United States and as Día de la Raza in various Latin American countries. Celebration of the anniversary in Spain dates to 1935, when the first festival was held in Madrid. The day was known as Dia de la Hispanidad, emphasizing Spain’s connection to the Hispanidad, the international Hispanic community. On November 27, 1981, a royal decree established Día de la Hispanidad as a national holiday.
Our day started with one of those Sandemann New Europe “Free Tours”. Over about two hours we walked around, visited quite a few buildings and historic spots, and even took in some late morning tapas and a beer. For me, there were lots of highlights, including visiting what was the Jewish quarter, as well as being shown evidence on some buildings of wartime bombing. Our tour guide had a “unique” style which I eventually warmed too. With lots of self-deprecating humour, and with quite a few specific cultural references, I wondered how well his tour would go down with “non-native” English speakers. Still we laughed.
The Expiatory Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus
As if we hadn’t already seen enough churches, later in the day we took a train, a cable car and bus to the top of Mount Tibidabo, to visit “The Expiatory Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus”. It takes a while to get there, and yesterday we were crammed into a tiny bus, along with lots of sweaty, smelly backpackers, and with lots of locals also headed to the mountain top, though they presumably more inclined to visit the amusement park next door.
The building is impressive. Already more than half a kilometre above sea level, you can already climb quite high, and see a terrific view of Barcelona for free. For an extra 3.5 euros, you can take an elevator to the top of the building, to see even more terrific views. And then if you’re willing, climb the stairs so you’re within a couple of meters of the statue of Jesus, at the very top. Highly recommended.
An early evening nap followed, before heading out for a bite to eat at a nearby pub called Casa Lopez. The pub attracts a Newtown/Surry Hills kinda crowd of long-term locals and recently arrived hipsters, and has a lengthy tapas menu.
“You need to get some insect repellent”, I advised Sue, ahead of her three day trip to Kakadu. I was thinking of and remembering the risk of mosquito born conditions like Ross River Fever. It was only when we stopped at the Emerald Springs Roadhouse (about 200km south of Darwin) that I remembered the other reason: blowflies. Living in a city you can easily forget the ubiquity of the blowy in the Australian outback. With a surprisingly very good flat white coffee in one hand, I used the other the swat the flies, as I walked onto the outdoor deck of the roadhouse.
As I did, the owner (who was eating her breakfast) shot me a smile. As we entered later in the day, she smiled and said hello again, “You’re looking better than you did the other day”, she said, obviously confusing me for someone else. When you’re an unexceptional looking white bloke in your fifties, and have a bald head and dark glasses, you can pretty pretty much fade into the background. Or at least, be often confused for someone else. At my local pub, for example, one of the barmaids had been in the practice of pouring me a Victoria Bitter, until she realised it was one of the “other four blokes who looked like me” who drank VB, whereas I’m a “Reschs” drinker.
Sunset at the Emerald Springs Roadhouse
As our tour guide explained, these roadhouses are usually without mains power (running on diesel), and have to transport everything in and out. which is why prices are sometimes surprisingly high. “They’re a vital part of outback life”, he explained.
Later in the evening, as we revisited the roadhouse on the way back into Darwin, I looked around the bar at the “locals”. They were all men, mostly in their 40s and 50s, though there were a couple of younger looking blokes (one of whom caught my eye!). With a beer, they mostly sat individually, watching the Channel 9 News via Imparja TV. I’m guessing they’re all working on nearby properties. What an interesting life they must lead.
We were roughly half-way to Nitmiluk (Katherine Gorge) on a bus day trip through AAT King. Already we’d visited the Adelaide River War Cemetery which I’d visited only two days earlier with Sue. Our next stop was Leliyn (aka /Edith Falls).
It was the first time I’ve been on one of those ‘big tourist buses”. Normally, I’ve been on buses of around 21-seats. Previously I’ve looked at those BIG buses with trepidation. They’re almost always a FULL of people who take over the queues to the cafe and the toilets. Thankfully, ours was only half-full, which meant there was plenty of room on board, and hopefully we weren’t too much of a problem for the people already enjoying the falls.
After a lovely swim (the water was initially cold, but soon very comfortable), I sat at the nearby cafe, and over an iced-tea, contemplated the world around me.
It was then that an older Asian woman reached over in front of me and pointed towards one of those “novelty signs” which said “I’m spending the kids inheritance”. “That’s my philosophy and you should do it too”, she told me,. “When I was young I worked two jobs to support my children. “Now they have degrees, good jobs, and they’re living all around the world”, she said. “They can look after themselves” she added.
After another hour so, we finally made it to Katherine (which I learned was the hometown for Australian sportspeople, Cadell Evans and Liesel Jones). It’s twenty one years since I first visited Katherine, not long after the big flood of 1998. I remember the town looking a little shoddy in a post-flood kinda way. Now, the town was looking much recovered, though there are flood signs all around, noting the level the water reached back then.
After lunch, we embarked on boat tour of two of the gorges at Nitmiluk (Katherine Gorge), though it’s worth noting it’s only the first one that’s actually called “Nitmiluk”, we learned from tour guide, James. Though not Jawoyn himself, he provided a terrific commentary, explaining both the scientific explanations of the creation of the gorge, as well as the the Jawoyn creation stories.
As it’s the “Dry Season”, and it’s been an especially dry “Dry Season”, the water was low, restricting the number of gorges open to the public. Nonetheless, we had a wonderful experience. One of life’s great experiences.
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Wow, that’s an action-packed few days!
I’m exhausted just thinking of all that social activity!
It’s been a stupidly busy few days. I actually have a fair bit on this week also. I called to apologise for something tonight – I just need a quiet night. Next weekend? Nothing. It’s like that, eh? Sometimes lots to do, other times zilch.
Wow, that’s an action-packed few days!
I’m exhausted just thinking of all that social activity!
It’s been a stupidly busy few days. I actually have a fair bit on this week also. I called to apologise for something tonight – I just need a quiet night. Next weekend? Nothing. It’s like that, eh? Sometimes lots to do, other times zilch.