Come to Australia, You Might Accidently Get Killed

It's that time of year again, that is, Australia Day. Unfortunately I've lost touch with my Australian friends from the early '90s, but I hope they're well. I understand that staying well can be a tough proposition down under.

“The taipan is the one to watch out for. It is the most poisonous snake on Earth, with a lunge so swift and a venom so potent that your last mortal utterance is likely to be: 'I say, is that a sn--' ”

― Bill Bryson

The Idea of Stromatolites

We had a yellow-sky dusk today. Mostly cloudy with rain predicted but not yet happening. The light begins to fade at around 8 now, a mark of the declining summer. I sat on the deck for a while just after 8, admiring the sky and listening to cicadas and crickets. They were almost loud enough to drown out the ambient traffic noise. Good.

Recently I finished reading In a Sunburned Country (2000) by Bill Bryson. I liked it a lot. (And I recommend A Walk in the Woods, too, which I read a couple of years ago.) It's clear from his writing that he enjoys the pure pleasure of setting out to see what he can see, and he takes his well-honed descriptive and interpretative skills with him. I also liked the book because its subject is Australia, a place Bryson's very fond of. Me too.

Toward the end, he describes a marvel that should be on educational flash cards (see yesterday), but never will be. Bryson traveled to Shark Bay on the remote west coast of Australia north of Perth, where he sought out a formation found only there and and a few other places in the entire world. "Nowhere in any direction was there a sign of human intrusion except directly ahead, where a nifty wooden walkway zigzagged for 150 feet or so out into the bay over some low, dark, primeval-looking masses that didn't quite break the water's calm. I had found my living stromatolites..." he wrote.

"Stromatolites are so primitive of nature that they don't even adopt regular shapes. The just sort of, as it were, blob out... In fact, they are shapeless gray blobs, without character or luster. It has to be immediately conceded that a stromatolite formation is not a handsome or striking sight.

"It's not the sight of stromatolites that makes them exciting. It's the idea of them -- and in this respect they are peerless. You are looking at living rocks -- quietly functioning replicas of the very first organic structures ever to appear on Earth. You are experiencing the world as it was 3.5 billion years ago -- more than three-quarters of the way back to the moment of terrestrial creation. Now, if that's not an exciting thought, I don't know what is. As the aforementioned paleontologist Richard Fortey has put it: 'This is truly time traveling, and if the world were attuned to its real wonders this sight would be as well-known as the pyramids of Giza.' Quite right.

"If you peer, you can sometimes see tiny bubbles of oxygen rising in streams from the formations. This is stromatolite's only trick and it isn't much, but it is what made life as we know it possible... For two billion years this was all the life there was on Earth, but in that time the stromatolites raised the oxygen level in the atmosphere to 20 percent -- enough to allow the development of other, more complex life-forms: me, for instance. My gratitude was real."

Oz Day '11

Australia Day has rolled around once again. This year with some melancholy, considering the terrible natural disasters that parts of the country have endured recently.

Some time ago I was listening to reports on the Queensland flooding and heard of Anna Bligh for the first time. She's the state's premier. Bligh? Not a very common name. Related to Capt. Bligh?

Just kidding; here's a statue of the historical Bligh, who tends to be referred to as "Gov. Bligh" in Australian sources, since he was the fourth governor of New South Wales. Another uprising happened during his watch, known as the Rum Rebellion (beginning on January 26, 1808), resulting in Bligh being illegally tossed out of office. Some managers just can't catch a break.

Anna Bligh is indeed a descendant of William Bligh, who was actually a lieutenant at the time of the mutiny on the Bounty and a vice admiral at the end of his career (kicked upstairs by the Admiralty after that incident in NSW, it seems). But history and Hollywood have made him a captain forever.

Also for Australia Day: four versions of "Waltzing Matilda" selected from among countless others. More information on the song than you'll ever need is here.

First, a video by the late and much-beloved Slim Dusty, Australia's answer to just about every North American country singer. Next, a version that's geared to children (and those who don't understand Australian English of the song) by Rolf Harris, best known in this country for "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport."

A symphonic version is next, with violin by Dutchman André Rieu, whom I understand isn't a favorite of classical music critics, perhaps because he's too popular, though I'm not competent to say. Anyway, he does a good turn on "Waltzing Matilda" and the Australian audience seems warm to it. And I have to like the Dutch description of the video by the fellow who posted it, because Dutch is so much fun to look at. It begins: Een meesterwerk van André Rieu en zijn mannen en vrouwen. Zoooo mooi. Dit nummer hebben ze gespeeld tijdens hun tour in Australië. Koop die CD. Hij is super!

Finally, Tom Waits' version of the song ("Tom Traubert's Blues"), which is mostly not the song. But any day is a good day to watch some Tom Waits.

Broken Hill Dust Storm

It was "warm" over the weekend, by which I mean above freezing even at night, resulting in a massive snow and ice melt. By Monday, temps were just below freezing, causing the vast puddles in the back yard to ice over but not solidify, so that our youngest resident had fun punching foot-shaped holes in the ice. I did a little of that myself.

The fact that today is Australia Day made me look around for some kind of video for the occasion. I could use some antipodal summer weather about now, but not like this:

(Link for Facebook readers.)(And another link, because they have
great slang in Australia.)

I was on a bus between Wilcania and Broken Hill all those austral summers ago, but it didn't run into anything like that. Too bad large parts of the country are drying up and blowing away.

Then again, it's always been a hard country, and the Australians have dealt with it. An example from The Penguin History of Australia by John Molony (1988): "There were places where neither bullocks nor horses were useful and other means had to be sought for transportation. Thomas Elder and his brother-in-law, Robert Barr Smith, owned or leased more land in South Australia than the whole of their native Scotland, and Thomas concluded that the vast distances would be well served by camels.

"In the mid-1860s, he imported over a hundred of them and within a few years the original herd had grown to thousands. In the wake of the camels, Afghans came to manage and drive the camel trains which became a familiar sight in the outback with up to eighty camels per train. The camel was used successfully in the exploration and in the building of the Overland Telegraph line from Port Augusta in the south to Port Darwin in the north, which was completed in 1872.

"For eighty years, the camels and the Afghans were an essential segment of the transportation system in areas impassable by other means, and the gentility and honesty of the Afghans remained in the memory of the outback long after the last of them had died or returned to their homeland. When it became possible to run a railway over the route the Afghans had pioneered through to Alice Springs, the train was named the Ghan in their honor."

Item From the Past: Summertime Oz

January 2, 1992

An image taken in southwestern Western Australia, overlooking the Indian Ocean. One reason (among several) for going to that part of the country was to see the Indian Ocean for the first time.

Up late and drove south from Myalup [Western Australia]. Wandered around the coast for awhile and arrived at Jewel Cave in time for a tour led by a pleasant blonde Australian. Impressive cave, especially the straw stalactite. Late in the afternoon, we came to the Lenton Brae Winery and looked around its Spanish-style "pressed earth" building, tasted a few wines and bought a few bottles ('90 Graves for me).

Went to a second winery, Wildwood, which wasn't as interesting, despite -- or maybe because of -- the attached trendy brasserie. Swam in the late afternoon in the ocean, until warned of stingrays in the area. Such warnings need to be taken seriously in Australia. Dinner at a Mexican restaurant in ________. Not bad, but mainly distinctive as the furthest south I'm ever likely to eat Mexican food.

January 6, 1992

I took this picture somewhere in Adelaide on that day, struck by the oddity created by two small handbills pasted over a larger poster, but especially by pleading and nonpunctuated upper one.

Good day tooling around Adelaide. In the morning I walked in the general direction of North Terrace, which is a row of museums. Was distracted on the way by bookstores. Among other things, looked at length at an enormous Macquarie Dictionary, which I plan to buy in Sydney as my largest souvenir. Spent time at the Rundle Mall, a fine fussgängerplatz in the middle of the city's grid. Lots of shops and people and street musicians on this fine summer day.

Lunch at a Malaysian storefront, Twain's. Chicken curry, rice, modest price. Made it to museum row and wandered into the Art Gallery of South Australia. Nice collection, chronologically organized, of Australian art -- by which they mean of white settlers and their descendants, starting in the early 1800s in South Australia, Victoria and Tasmania, but more nationwide in more recent times. A collection of Aboriginal art is in the nearby natural history museum; draw your own conclusions from that. Among other works, saw "A Holiday at Mentone" by Charles Conder and "Persecuted Lovers" by Arthur Boyd.

January 10, 1992

If you see a bridge you can cross, cross it. On foot, ideally. And I don't mean this metaphorically. I'm talking about literal bridges. This pic was taken on the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Up late; got out of the house at about 1:30. Went down to Circular Quay and caught the ferry to Manly. Nice ride in a stiff warm wind. Returned after lunch in Manly -- another gyro -- and proceeded to the Sydney Harbour Bridge and walked across it, south to north. Matt pointed out the places he'd climbed on the structure as a reckless adolescent.

We rode a train back across the bridge and on to Darling Harbour, site of extensive waterside redevelopment: conference center, shopping and entertainment. We did no shopping, but we did confer at a pub, outdoors, and entertained ourselves by drinking Cascade beer. At one point, a 10-man bicycle passed by. Each one of the ten men was dressed like members of a barbershop quartet -- though I suppose that would be a barbershop dectet -- except for the bike helmets they were wearing. Instead of singing, each one played an instrument, so it was a small brass band on a 10-man bicycle.

Let There Be Pyrotechnics

From the Australian, dateline Sydney, where it's already 2009: "More than a million revellers have ushered in 2009 in Sydney, watching in wonder as spectacular bursts of fireworks lit up the night sky, culminating in a giant glowing sun on the iconic Harbour Bridge.

"With the theme of Creation, the event was 15 months in the making, with a dazzling array of more than 100,000 individual pyrotechnics firing from the bridge, six barges around the harbour and the top of several skyscrapers."

Damn. I would like to have seen that. Why 2009 gets to be the Creation year, I couldn't say, but who cares. Fiat lux.

Then again, New Year's is a summer holiday in Oz, so they might as well shoot off 100,000 individual pyrotechnics. That's lighting a lot of candles against the darkness. Roman candles against the darkness.

Around here, I expect to hear a scattering of private pyrotechnics around midnight. It happens every year. Maybe not as many this year as last, not because of the economy or anything so abstract, but because it's biting cold out there.

Feliĉan Novan Jaron, everyone. Back on Sunday.

Fremantle, Home of Bon Scott & Dogbolter

Cold rain + snow cover = slush, with an extra good helping of black ice and otherwise treacherous walking conditions. Black Ice. Wasn't that the '80s rapper shot to death by rival Blu Sno?

Nope. Apparently, besides describing nearly invisible frozen water underfoot, it's also the name of a studio album by AC/DC, released only this October. Which makes me ask another question: AC/DC is still making records?

So it would seem. And fans are still buying them, in quantity, like in the good old days (good old days if you're a record company), except that they're buying them at Wal-Mart and Sam's Club this time around.

Such news naturally makes me wander around the Net a bit, and for my trouble I'm usually rewarded with nuggets of information. Sure enough, I discovered that in Fremantle, Western Australia, there's a statue of AC/DC frontman Bon Scott, who died a rock 'n' roll death. Few from Fremantle found such fame.

The memorial was erected only this year, so I missed it by nearly two decades. My main memory of Fremantle -- or maybe it was West Fremantle -- is lunch: steak, baked potato, and a big bottle of Dogbolter beer, a local lager. That remains one of my favorite beer names.

Caves I've Known

In the summer of '72, my family went on a cave vacation. At least, that's how I remember it, because the goal was Carlsbad Caverns, but on the way there we stopped at the Caverns of Sonora in west Texas, and on the way back, Longhorn Cavern State Park in central Texas.

I was duly impressed by Carlsbad, such as by the fact that each tour visited only part of the developed trails, that plenty more undeveloped passages branched off, and that in fact not all the cave had been explored, and maybe never could be. The enormous vaulting ceilings are grand. The huge stalagmites, -tites and other formations are as well. And, being a kid, I was also impressed that there was a whole snack bar in one of the cave's larger rooms, and by the speed at which the elevators moved to take you to the surface.

We also waited one evening at dusk near the main entrance of the cave for the bats to come out -- there is, or was, seating available for that purpose. A park service employee was at hand to talk about bats, and I remember him mentioning in passing that it sure did snow a lot in New Mexico, and that bats rarely flew into anyone's hair, not to worry about that. The bats dribbled out at first, then became a torrent.

As memorable as Carlsbad was, the Caverns of Sonora made a bigger impression. Even at 11, I was struck by the intense beauty of the cave. Unlike Carlsbad, it didn't overwhelm with size. It's a modest cave in that way, but packed with formations, including amazing numbers of helictites, thin formations that seem to grow every which way, seemingly without regard to gravity. Of course I don't remember a lot of detail after 35 years (I haven't returned), but I do remember being blown away, and I don't think my age was the main factor.

Over the years since, I've visited a fair number of commercial caves, perhaps looking for the awe I felt at the Caverns of Sonora. It isn't quite a hobby, more of an active interest, and when the opportunity arises, I'll go, which has taken me as far as an interesting cave on the island of Shikoku, Japan -- which proved that you don't really have to understand the guide -- and a nice jewelbox of a cave in Western Australia. Closer to home, Mammoth Cave duly impressed as Carlsbad once did, and Wind Cave had its charms too. Mark Twain Cave, on the other hand, was part of the tourist snare -- "trap" is too strong -- that is Hannibal, Mo., and not that great as a cave.

Unfortunately, I never followed up on the single non-commercial caving experience I had, in July 1982, when two college friends and I spent most of a day inside the Earth at a cave some distance outside Nashville, equipped with hardhats topped by acetylene gas lamps, flashlights, candles and lunches that we packed in. It was muddy and exhausting and good fun, with plenty to see by that eerie acetylene glow, though not as picturesque as a commercial cave.

On August 4, we made it to Cave of the Mounds, near Blue Mound, Wisconsin, just in time for the last tour of the day. It's a fine cave, not lacking in worthy formations, and more interesting because the first half of the tour was done entirely by flashlight -- a special feature of the day's touring, since it was the anniversary of the day the cave had been discovered in 1939. I'm also happy to report that Ann walked all the way through without asking to be carried. This bodes well for future walks through caves, in search of one that will recall Sonora.

The Ol’ VOC

It felt like a pleasant day in March or even April. Wish I’d had more time to go outside, since it looks like winter is going to come back Friday night with big snow.

Finished Devil in the White City (See January 6). Say what you want about capital punishment, hanging H. H. Holmes, who killed dozens of people, was the thing to do. He committed his murders a little too early to go to the electric chair, which I learned from the book was first exhibited at the Columbian Exposition, along with such familiar products as Cracker Jacks and Shredded Wheat.

Still in the mood for time travel, I then picked up a book called Batavia’s Graveyard by Mike Dash. It takes me even further back, to even rougher times, because late 19th-century Chicago seems like Easy Street when compared to life in the service of the Dutch East India Company (VOC, using Dutch initials). The book is about the shipwreck of the VOC East Indiaman Batavia in 1628 off the coast of Australia--then an unknown quantity, including the reef that got the ship. A shipwreck and then a mutiny among the survivors. A harrowing tale, well told so far.

Even in the best of voyages, travel from the Netherlands to the East Indies counted as harrowing. If I remember right from what Dash wrote, the odds of returning were anywhere from 2 in 3 to 50/50, even for the officers. What kind of enterprise, at least in the developed world of today, would be allowed with those odds of survival for its participants? Better then to read about the 17th century than to live it.

Rugging Up

Yesterday was warm by late November standards, in the 50s, though very windy. Today the wind died down but the temps fell 20 degrees or more -- so much so that the dusting of snow that fell last night didn’t melt.

So it was good that today the furnace cleaner and inspector, same fellow as last year from the same company, came to clean and inspect the furnace. Just a part of rugging up for winter in these parts. Ann was mystified. Who was this fellow downstairs with the little vacuum and toolbelt? (She wasn’t quite as articulate as that.) He decided that the machine was in good shape, fit for another winter.

Not sure if I’m using “rug up” as it would be used in its native land, Australia. According to the Macquarie Dictionary, it has the literal meaning of wrapping up against the cold. Terms like that have a way of migrating to the figurative, and I can use it that way if I want to, anyway. So I do, occasionally.

I’ve known “rug up” for a long time, ever since I apartment-sat in Manhattan for a few weeks one summer. The woman who lived there had a record collection, including Business as Usual by Men at Work, an Australian band with a few hits in the early ’80s. “Down by the Sea,” a song on side two, wasn’t one of them, but it did contain the lyric:

Yonnies in the wind,
We’re ruggin’ up for winter
Putting out the bins
In cold and windy weather.

I never knew what a “yonnie” was, but “rug up” seemed clear enough. Lately I looked up yonnie, and Macquarie says “a stone, esp. for throwing.” Not sure that makes the lyric any clearer, though throwing rocks into the sea on a windy day is a nice image. But sometimes obscure lyrics should stay obscure.