Saturday, January 29, 2011

Aussie Openness

With Australia Day coming and going this week, it’s a time for the country to mull over what it means to be Australian. If Australia Day is anything to go by, it means mass eating of tasteless slimy sausages on greasy BBQs, a bit of chirpy singing and waving of a sometimes unsatisfactory flag, a little boozing and gathering in a thong-footed mass of happy families and bogan pride, watching fireworks explode over wonderful, modern, generally civilised cities. Thankfully though, it mostly means not worrying too much about what it means to be Australian and just getting on with things and being Australian.

Australia is of course quite a faraway, isolated place, perhaps only eclipsed by New Zealand in its off-the-radar ways. Occasionally a catastrophe or calamity will remind people it exists, or Oprah will come and visit and you’ll never hear the end of it. Then there’s the sport and while Australian achievements in sport seem to have dwindled in recent years (I think really the rest of the world has caught up), it remains a strong component of the nation’s psyche. Camm orn!

The city of Melbourne is undoubtedly the sporting heart of the nation and, while the ‘G’ fields lovely leg breaks and marvellous marks for the empire and colonial audiences, its one truly international jewel in the crown is the Australian Open tennis championship. And here, my very enjoyable sporting summer continued, not once, not twice (as originally planned), but three times. As a non-tennis watching friend memorably put it (perhaps somewhat ironically)...time to watch some straight sex victories.

It’s a good time of year to be in Melbourne and usually by now it is ridiculously scorching. We know the weather is different this summer and it’s been one of the coldest Aussie Opens on record, though more inconsistent and mild than downright cold. Certainly the Sunday I arrived was a good weather day, ideal for cruising around and chilling before an evening jaunt at Rod Laver arena.





The tennis that night was solid if unspectacular – Sharapova grunting along to a loss to someone with an unpronounceable name and an unpronounceable name happily beating Andy Roddick. I feel sorry for the unpronounceable names – the massive balance of crowd calls squealing out for the easier option – while a few mangle the syllables of Miss Wvyarwvekotfskiovanic. Alas, as well as unpronounceable names, I cannot bring you close ups of frilly skirts and backhand slices, Nazi style camera restrictions in place to desist stalking and encourage more spending of money on official photographs of player’s butts...



The next day, the zoom lens was back intact on a trip out of Melbourne to the very beautiful Dandenongs and Yarra Ranges. Getting there was not especially half of the fun... escaping the Europcar car park the first major challenge, although onward navigation was pretty impressive despite the best efforts of the satnav. Picking up late breakfast from a patisserie in Belgrave saw the day pick up, and eating that luscious apricot and almond slice underneath the tall mountain ash forest was quite probably the summit.



Coming off the Dandenongs (which I think sounds like something you’d find In The Night Garden), it was off into the Yarra Valley, through the rather chicken-less Lilydale and up towards Yarra Glen, where an obligatory tasting of grape juice was warranted. Then across to Healesville, where a rather scrumptious pub lunch was also warranted. And then up and over twisting unsealed roads in the high cloud of the Yarra Ranges National Park, where grape juice and lunch was swirling around in a generally unwarranted fashion. Despite this, the drive was absolutely awesome, through majestic forests and dripping wet ferns, a freshness and purity in the air, a paradoxical thrill and fear about being in the middle of nowhere, the misty clouds swirling among the ghostly white pillars of mountain ash.

Down out of the clouds, back on sealed roads and with one or two other cars for company, the descent zoomed the car down to the small town of Warburton, where, in the steep sided valley and white veils of the Yarra river, life is finer than sliced white bread. It’s nice to see the Yarra all clear and glistening – no doubt an angler’s paradise – before it meets the sediment and tide that turns it brown across the city of Melbourne.

Back in Melbourne, and dropping the hire car off a few minutes late, the evening was spent in Lygon Street. Welcome to Italiano-land, where the pasta is a fasta and just like momma used to make. The most touristy strip dotted with Mario Brothers offering you the not so exclusive deal of free Bruschetta and no corkage. They fail to tell you that they have run out of Lasagne and Bolognese. Whadda mistaka to maker! Still, the excesses of cheesecake and coffee on top of Carbonara made it a breakfast free morning the next day, and time for some non-holiday action via work. This rude interruption was rectified later with some more tennis action – this time watching Djokovic power on through against Tomas Berdych, to the dismay of his excellent backing group.

Australia Day emerged cool and cloudy, the weather being totally un-Australian, but dry enough for tennis to proceed with an open roof. This was the spontaneous day, with tickets just about still available to go and watch a couple of fine ladies quarter finals, followed by Andy Muzzzzzaaaahhhh Murray against Dogopopopopolovic. This time I took my extra long zoom lens, but was thwarted by the bag check man doing too thorough a job... again, very un-Australian. Still, it was a good old day, illuminated by random gun salutes and airplanes interrupting the tennis, and a fairly comfortable win for old Muzzzzzzzzzzaaaaaaahhhhh.





Spending the daytime at the tennis allowed for some soaking up of Australia Day atmosphere in the evening. Of course, this meant random music and displays, lots of people just hanging about drinking, eating, playing ball, and the very Australian embrace of colourful explosions.





While the fireworks were there for celebration, there was a tinge of flatness in the air as in a way it symbolised the end of the summer holidays. No more treats at this point to look forward to. A ramping up of work and chores and even the occasional wearing of trousers instead of shorts. Possible healthy eating and / or exercise. And Melbourne was playing up to the occasion on Thursday morning as I took the journey to the airport... all sunny and clear and pleasantly warm... like it wanted you to stay and holiday on. Flying over the Victorian bush and Alpine country a little seed was planted for a mini-road trip come March... down there, amongst those trees, along those ridgelines, beside those rivers. I mean, the holiday times need to be dragged out for as long as possible, right?

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Water week



It’s a strange period right now, caught between continuous attempts to prolong the holiday period and knuckling down and doing some bloody work for a change! At the moment there is a bit of both, a full week back at work interrupted by more summer cricket, evening ambles and one or two BBQs. And then of course there is the oddness of this summer in particular, witnessed across the east as rains pound and waters rage, while in the west, the bushfires sizzle. La Nina is to blame, and apparently this is the worst one recorded in a long time. Even Garth the BBQ doesn’t know what is going on.

While things are as always relatively tame in Canberra, it has meant the usual scorching 35 degree days are yet to materialise and perhaps never will. The week was mostly cloudy and showery and remarkably humid, the showers easing off enough for the Prime Minister’s XI to lose to England on Monday, and the sun coming out enough to give me a red triangle between my neck and chest. The remaining days drifted as all eyes were often focused north of the border, the weekend arriving and signalling some light at the end of the tunnel.

Humidity of Cairns proportions, along with requisite biting insects, was the theme for Saturday as I headed down to Namadgi National Park for a morning bushwalk. Assuming it would be the coolest part of the day, it was like hiking through the Amazon rainforest on a walk part way up Mount Tennant. I was intending to go the whole way, but even Bear Grylls would’ve struggled (though plenty of insect nourishment for him).



The rare sound of gurgling brooks, reminding me of Dartmoor, accompanied my walk up to the Lone Pine Lookout where the view was not really much like Dartmoor, but offered a sign of increasing blue skies and summerness. It may have been the down part, but going back down felt a lot less humid and things were returning to the dry heat more akin to this time of year. In fact, what was a couple of hours ago a clammy mosquito infested Panamanian jungle was a delightful summer scene of grassy meadows and vibrant plants. The giant ants were now out in force though.







A sign of how things have changed over the past year from drought to too much water is indicated by the dam levels in Canberra which are mostly full to brimming. Evidence of this was clear at Gibraltar Falls, a dip in a usually small creek fed by Corin Dam, now powering wide and full and noisily, the spray a welcome coolant following the sweaty walking earlier in the day.







With summer back, at least temporarily, and the mercury hovering just above 30C it was definitely without a shadow of a doubt BBQ weather; alas, Garth has decided enough is enough and failed to ignite. He may be fixable, but I may equally end up blowing up the neighbourhood if I try to fix him. Anyway, steak in a griddle pan it was, walked off with something else which has been a rarity, a sedate dusk walk alongside a calm, tranquil lake.

Who knows what the next week holds. Sadly, a full week of work and I suspect it could be ramping up a little. Hopefully though more dusk walks by a calm, tranquil lake. And that balance between holidays and real life remains on a quavering horizontal knife edge, as Melbourne tennis, food and Australia Day celebrations await.

Friday, January 07, 2011

Plenty Eleven

The last few days of 2010 were wonderfully relaxing affairs, an incredible peace and calm and warm summer breeze in Canberra accompanying cricket watching, gentle bushwalks among the local wildlife, and plentiful barbecue meats of the non-local wildlife. The kind of days that I could happily soak up all the way into March.



But the year has to end with a bang, right? The bang of car boots as they are loaded up again for the three hour breeze up to Sydney, just in time for lunch at a well recommended cafe in Maroubra. The pops of fizzy wine corks as they fly their way out beside Coogee Beach. The hoots and whistles of mildly drunkenly exuberant teens on the bus to the city. All building to the many bangs, pops, hoots and whistles of fireworks in the New Year’s Eve epicentre.





So on a warm night made even toastier by oodles of explosives, a melodic rendition of Barbra Streisand on cyclical loops and a glorious feeling from not singing in the rain, 2011 had arrived. The first day of the year was a great one to start, sunny and very warm, time for more cooling beverages and barbecue meats with Brits (here, an on the public record thank you very much to Jill, Jake, Louise, Jan, Ken and David for letting me win at Cranium... oh... and the food and company and accommodation). And the climax of the day, a mildly impressive interpretation of Sydney fireworks in the art form of trifle. Can you tell what it is yet?!

The next day travelling under a pile of blueberries and crossing into a custardy North Shore it was on upwards towards the Central Coast for a few days of classic Aussie summer beaches and bushland exposure, the icing on the cake being the icing of the cake and the batter on the fish and the vinegar on the chips and the cheese on the crackers and the chocolate on the beach. Mercifully there were some walks to offset slightly the abundance of food. The first a difficult easy walk through Ku-Ring-Gai Wildflower Park, just minutes from the highway but typical of the national park in which much of northern Sydney seemingly sits.



Rest and recuperation was provided an hour or so later at North Avoca beach, a lovely all Aussie sweep of sand and clear surf, backed by expensively modest homes mingling within the bushland.



A more extensive walk was on the cards the next day, along the Bouddi National Park coastline, this one a genuine medium grade over 14 kilometres or so, the south west coast path Australian style, complete with many ups and seemingly fewer downs. It was a grey old day in the end, but dry and cool, making for ideal walking weather without the searing heat. The scenery was quite hot itself, rugged and untamed, the curve of Maitland Bay providing a welcome flat stretch midway through.





Apparently the walk burned approximately 1600 calories, which isn’t quite enough to make up for Terrigal fish and chips followed by Terrigal cake the next morning. A little more sedate walking came about the next day (perhaps a biscuit’s worth) pacing out towards Mount Ettalong lookout, a quite exquisite spot overlooking the bays and coves of the Hawkesbury, Pittwater and Brisbane Water. You could almost hear the sound of Aussie wickets in the distance.



The road ends down this way in the waterside village of Patonga, a marvellous spot and relatively untampered and untainted by the world. There was thankfully enough tampering in the past to create a nice, almost British style pub with nice big TV screens showing nice big Aussie wickets. And a fish and chip shop next door with big British style chips and malt vinegar, a relative rarity in this great southern land. Simply irresistible and in a setting nowhere like Britain! If anyone ventures this way I think I would take them here, via the drive up the Northern beaches to Palm Beach, catch a ferry across the Hawkesbury for lunch, a little bushwalk, dangle a line, get the ferry back all in time for a sunset drive across the harbour bridge.

Back in Sydney it was justifiably soup for dinner, a sign that the indulgence and excess of the holiday season was almost over. Almost over, as there was one more day, a perfect ending in the sunshine and soaring spirit of the Sydney Cricket Ground. The second time in the Ashes series I have watched England bat the whole day... it would have been nice to see some bowling action I suppose, perhaps day four would have been even better, but I’ll settle for this.





At the end of the day the Ashes was all but sewn up, a remarkable achievement given the margin of victories and that very odd blip in Perth (Perth always was a bit different). There was a very contented Englishman driving through the darkness to Canberra, only tinges that the holidays were over darkening the darkness. Compensation abounding with bragging rights over the locals to kick off 2011, and more fun and sporting related shenanigans to come as the summer rolls on. All the happiness of new years to you.