US Presidential Election

The 2008 US presidential election was memorable in many ways, but for me it was particularly unique as I experienced it in Australia. When I arrived here in February, I was surprised at the level of coverage the Obama – Clinton primary race received. By now I am used to the interest in and knowledge of US politics, and have enjoyed getting glimpses of our election from an Australian viewpoint.

It was Wednesday afternoon here when the election results were in. I was in Melbourne, finishing my walking tour of the Royal Botanic Gardens. There was an Aussie woman who must’ve heard me talking with the guide, and between my accent and the mention of Thanksgiving it probably wasn’t hard to guess I’m American. So I found out who won the election when, in Melbourne’s Royal Botanic Gardens, I was told, “Congratulations on your new president.”

“Obama?” I asked, as it seemed like he would win.

She confirmed, “Yes.” This was an interesting way to find out who won, I thought. A short time later I was on the tram and a huge picture of Obama was on the cover of the free afternoon newspaper people read on public transportation. The headline informed all that he was projected to win; by the time the paper was actually out, McCain had conceded.

A majority of Australians wanted Obama to win. President Bush is deeply unpopular here, and McCain seemed to represent a continuation of Bush’s presidency. Under John Howard, Australia’s previous prime minister, the country followed America into the war in Iraq. (As a side note, Australia has been a US ally in every conflict since we entered WWI.) The Iraq war is opposed by most Australians, who are further disgusted at reports of American torture. There is also a sense that the Bush administration has an inflated sense of American self-importance. Australians want a US president who is going to be part of the world community, not set apart from the world community.

Of course people have noted the significance of having an African-American president, but there is something a bit more remote about that here. Setting aside the fact that Obama’s ancestors were never slaves, the labor in colonial Australia came from British convicts, not slaves, so people of African descent in Australia are very few (though some refugees come here now). It would be closer to home if Obama were Native American, because Australia has significant challenges relating to equality for indigenous people. Nevertheless, Aussies recognize that, as the media has been proclaiming, a racial barrier has fallen.

There was an Australian Associated Press article in Saturday’s Mercury (Hobart’s newspaper) informing us that Kevin Rudd was one of several national leaders to call Obama and congratulate him. According to the article they talked for 10 or 15 minutes about the expected topics: the economy, security, and the environment. Kevin Rudd was widely quoted as saying “I'm convinced that we are going to have a first class working relationship with president-elect Obama.” (Read the article at http://www.livenews.com.au/Articles/2008/11/07/Rudd_has_first_talks_with_presidentelect_Obama)

Elections here are announced, then held three weeks later. The length of this campaign has astonished Australians, who generally think it’s excessive. Moreover, they are confounded by the idea of voting being voluntary. Voting in Australia is mandatory, and failure to vote results in a fine. It is a civic duty here, and voluntary voting is seen as one of the odder aspects of the American political system.

While I’ve been learning Aussie perspectives, Australians have enjoyed asking me for my viewpoint. Since Australians are generally blunt, I was surprised that nobody asked me who I voted for. A lot of other questions have come up, though. I’ve been asked who I thought would win, how I vote from Australia, and if I come from a red state or a blue state.

All in all I believe Australians share the general view that at last the election is over, we know who the next president will be, and life can move forward.

Rainforest

In my last post I mentioned that Cairns uses the motto, “Where the reef meets the rainforest,” and I took a day tour with Trek North Safaris to see the rainforest. Unfortunately it rained on and off that day – appropriate for a rainforest, but inconvenient for tourism. We had lunch in a covered area next to a picturesque brook called Cooper Creek; during lunch the rain came down quite heavily and we saw the creek rise a few inches. While Australia is the driest inhabited continent, the eastern coast of Queensland gets a lot of rain during the wet season (November-April).The high rainfall and hot climate means that a continent known for its vast arid interior has a patch of tropical rainforest.

We took two easy walks during the day, with our guide telling us more about the various plants we saw. I quite liked the name of one particular plant. This plant has long creeping tendrils with hooks that it uses to haul itself up to the sunlight, and these hooks will also grab onto hair, clothes, or skin and not let go. Since they get their hooks into you and don’t let go, these plants are known as lawyer palms. There were vines everywhere, some of them impressively thick. Nevertheless our guide informed us that swinging through the trees on vines a la Tarzan was creative license and, while the vines are quite strong, he didn’t think it a very good idea.

The rainforest is very, very green, with lots of little streams running through. Our guide pointed out lots of various orchids, but none were flowering. Birds were hard to spot, but easy to hear chirping away. The largest bird in the rainforest is a flightless one in the same family as emus and ostriches known as a cassowary. The numbers have been declining and cassowaries live in a fairly small area, but they are a beloved animal in the area known as Far North Queensland. Cassowary road signs are common, and I also saw vehicles with bumper stickers showing a cassowary silhouette and the caption, “Take care!” While my group didn’t spot wild cassowaries, I saw them at both the Cairns Tropical Zoo and Birdworld. While undoubtedly magnificent creatures, they don’t look particularly friendly. Apparently cassowaries can seriously hurt humans between their powerful feet and the hard bony protrusion on top of their heads, although tourists are informed (and reassured) that they prefer to retreat into the rainforest. Male cassowaries sit on the eggs and raise the chicks; females have nothing to do with rearing the young.

As part of the day’s events we took a cruise on the Daintree River. This happened during some quite hard rain, but at least it was a reasonably warm day (I’m guessing mid 70s Fahrenheit) so I didn’t think it was that bad. Some of the Australians complained of cold, but this is nothing new. I’m rather used to it by now, having people around me think it’s cold when I don’t. In any case, the main point of the cruise was to see saltwater crocodiles in the wild. These “salties” are technically estuarine crocodiles, and not strictly saltwater dwellers, but Aussies are fond of their –ie words and the term has stuck. The company we went out with did nothing to get a reaction from the salties; they don’t want the crocs to see the boats as a source of food or a source of hostility. I was happy to hear that, although it must be noted that this company doesn’t guarantee a crocodile sighting. We saw two, and one had its mouth open which was interesting. Interesting, from a safe distance in a boat. These weren’t the big older males, which can reach 6 yards long; the ones we saw were ‘only’ 2 and 2 ½ yards long. That was just fine with me.

Tour guides – and I say this from experience with multiple tour guides – love to tell tourists about the salties. Namely, they tell you how only stupid people get eaten by crocodiles. “If you’re on the bank,” explained our crocodile cruise guide, “you’re on the menu.” Nevertheless, fishermen wade into the rivers and then sometimes end up getting eaten. I noticed warning signs along the river informing readers, usually in at least two languages, “Crocodiles inhabit this water: attacks may cause injury or death.” This was accompanied by drawings, one of a croc with its mouth open and another of a swimmer with a line through it. There really wasn’t room for misinterpretation. We were also told the story of a man who wanted a really good picture of a saltie. So he and his wife rented a canoe, went to a river known for having lots of crocodiles, hung a piece of meat out off the edge of their canoe, and waited to get that picture. Unfortunately, the crocodile wasn’t satisfied with the piece of meat. “He probably got a great picture right before he was eaten,” theorized our guide. (The wife managed to swim to shore.) I almost wonder if there is a book published for tour guides, Only Stupid People Get Eaten by Crocodiles: True Stories Guaranteed to Shock and Appall Your Tourists.

For lunch we could have fish or steak. I had the fish, which was barramundi. Barramundi, or barra as the locals refer to them, are a well-known northern Australian fish. They are famous both for being great fun to catch and also good to eat. I liked the barramundi alright, but still prefer haddock. This is just as well since I can get haddock in Maine. Anyway, it’s a decent fish – not too oily – and authentic tucker (that’s Aussie for food) for the region. Our tour guide, who was a fountain of knowledge, told us that barramundi spend the first half of their lives male and the second half female.

After lunch we went to Cape Tribulation. This was named by James Cook the morning after he discovered the Great Barrier Reef. He also named Mt. Misery and Mt. Sorrow. As you might’ve guessed, he discovered the Great Barrier Reef the hard way. You can see it under the water during the day, but Cook had the misfortune to encounter it at night. Later, after giving depressing names to a few landmarks, he was able to save his ship and crew with the desperate effort of throwing most of the cargo overboard. (The cannons are now in various museums.) When the next high tide came, HMS Endeavour floated, and he was lucky because coral stayed lodged in the hull, which kept more water from pouring in. Cook ordered the hole covered with one of the sails and Endeavour limped along northwards for a couple of days until they found a suitable place to land. Repairs took two months. When I visited Cape Tribulation, it was raining again, so the view wasn’t that great, but I could see that on a clear day it would be spectacular.

On the way home we stopped at a little café for tea and coffee. Growing in a pot on the side of the building I finally spotted a flowering orchid. Also, there was a green tree frog on a round light outside the building, attached to a wall. (This light wasn’t on.) Most of us thought it was plastic at first, and even when we saw it breathe one Canadian man thought perhaps it was battery-operated. “As if we’d bother,” replied our tour guide. The green tree frogs are fairly well-known and this particular one now features in lots of photos. Once it was determined this was a real frog, we all whipped out our cameras. The café staff found this highly amusing.

Since we cut one of the walks short due to rain, we stopped in to a place that grows tropical, exotic fruits and uses some of them to make ice cream. They had fantastic ice cream – I thoroughly enjoyed the coconut flavor. I didn’t at all mind having a shorter walk because it was quite good ice cream, and we still got to take the second walk, just a bit shorter. I very much enjoyed my rainforest excursion, rain and all, and learned a lot while I was at it.

Great Barrier Reef

I spent a week in Cairns (pronounced more or less like “cans”) in the north of Australia. It was entirely different from Tasmania, where on a cruise I’ve seen a penguin in the cold waters. It’s hot and tropical at about 16 degrees south latitude – the closest I’ve ever been to the equator. I stepped off the plane at 7 pm, and it was a humid 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

Cairns uses the motto, “Where the reef meets the rainforest.” It is, tour guides and promotional websites like to point out, the only place in the world where two World Heritage areas are so close to each other. My first full day in Cairns was devoted to the better known of the two, the Great Barrier Reef.

The Great Barrier Reef stretches over 1,600 miles north-to-south off the coast of the Australian state of Queensland. It falls under the management of the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority, to which day visitors must pay an AU$10 reef tax. The Great Barrier Reef Marine Park, I was told on my tour, is larger than the United Kingdom! It can apparently be seen from outer space.

Because of its international airport, Cairns is the most popular place to visit the Great Barrier Reef. A plethora of companies offer tours; from budget tours to the more expensive variety which include champagne on the return trip, the options are bewildering. I chose tour company Passions of Paradise for my excursion. This was an affordable (AU$125) but quality day tour and I enjoyed it immensely.

The boats taking tourists out to the Great Barrier Reef are collectively known as the “Reef Fleet,” and there are buses that will pick people up from the many hotels and motels and drop them off at the Reef Fleet Terminal, then bring them back to their accommodation later. There were hundreds of people when I arrived at the Reef Fleet Terminal. It was the tail end of the major tourist season, as the wet season starts November 1st and torrential downpours naturally deter a lot of visitors. I had an ideal day: blue sky with only fluffy, non-threatening clouds, a slight breeze but nothing to stir up the water and make huge waves, water that was in the high 70s Fahrenheit and air just a few degrees warmer.

Everyone was assigned a number for the day, which was used to ensure that everyone returned from both of the snorkel/dive sites (twice in the last ten years certified divers who went off on their own have been left behind; the film “Open Water” was inspired by the 1998 disappearance of an American couple and in May of this year two divers survived being forgotten). I felt safe knowing that I would check in with my number and didn’t have to worry about an inaccurate headcount. Then we headed out to sea, a trip that took roughly an hour and a half. On the way they held introductory diving and introductory snorkel information sessions. Some people chose to take an introductory dive, which is closely supervised, while certified scuba divers could go off on their own. I stuck with snorkeling and spent the extra money diving would have cost on renting an underwater digital camera, which allowed me to take pictures left, right, and center.

Our first site was Michaelmas Cay, a small sand island that’s also a bird sanctuary. This means most of the island was roped off, but I wanted to be in the water anyway. I don’t understand the people who took the little transfer boat out and sprawled on the beach to sunbathe, while fish and coral were just waiting to be explored in the impossibly clear water. This fairly shallow spot was a great place to start snorkeling. For a couple of minutes I was a little jumpy because the fish and coral are really close, but it was so beautiful that didn’t last long. Although I did later get quite a shock when a batfish, about the size of a dinner plate, nearly careened into me. I think I was more startled than the batfish.

Incidentally, it’s illegal to remove anything from the Great Barrier Reef and taking a piece of coral can earn you a fine of AU$7,500. We were informed on the boat that some coral grows only 1 centimeter, or less than half an inch, per year. With the thousands of tourists who go out every day, I can see why the heavy fine is used as a deterrent – otherwise the Great Barrier Reef would shrink daily.

Snorkeling around Michaelmas Cay was magnificent. So magnificent, in fact, that I lost all track of time and missed the glass-bottom boat tour I’d meant to take. That was alright, because I spent more time snorkeling. We had over two hours at Michaelmas Cay but the time just flew by. Only three companies have permits to operate there, so we weren’t all chock-a-block, as Aussies say. Some of my personal favorites were the giant clams (one of which is featured in the first picture above). These are so big that they don’t move from place to place on the sea floor, so now and again the brightly-colored muscles would clench. There were lots of fish in all shapes, sizes, and colors, although the second site had more fish. And, of course, there was the coral. That too came in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors.

Snorkeling along the Great Barrier Reef is such an experience that it’s a bit hard to describe. After lunch we went to our other site, Paradise Reef, which is out in open water. There I was floating along just in front of and over a school of small, bright blue fish, but I was so near I felt as though I was swimming in with them. To be sharing their gorgeous, multi-colored, richly textured underwater world is an awesome and magical moment. I saw Clarke’s anemone fish (which I thought were clownfish but later learned are a similar but different species), a single large fish which may or may not have been a Queensland grouper, brain coral, coral that looked like an enormous mushroom, purple coral spiking up like so many fingers, coral that waved with the current, a particularly striking fish with bright blue, purple, green, and magenta, plus numerous other kinds of fish and coral. One of the staff members, who was diving and taking pictures that we could later purchase, brought up a sea cucumber which I got to hold while I was snorkeling. (This worked marvelously as a marketing tool, as I subsequently bought the picture for my mom.) The sea cucumber looked like a giant caterpillar – it was about a foot long – and was a slimy, squishy creature.

We didn’t encounter the elusive sea turtles, but at least neither did we encounter reef sharks. To my astonishment, some people want to get up close and personal with sharks. The fact that these are supposedly not sharks that snack on humans did not at all make me want to get near one without a solid barrier between me and the large carnivore with sharp teeth. A Passions of Paradise crewmember mournfully informed us that some 200 million sharks are killed a year and some species are in danger of extinction. I’m sure that’s bad for the ecosystem, but I personally am not a great fan of sharks.

All too soon we were called back to the boat. On the trip back to Cairns we sailed part of the way with the motor off. This was a lovely way to end the day. It was quiet without the engine, enabling us to hear the gentle splashing of the blue water against the boat. I found a good spot and settled in to soak up some sun. (It was a good thing I soaked in the sun face-up, because not long after this I discovered a rather nasty sunburn on my back and the back of my legs, despite two applications of SPF 30. Lots of people had sunburns in Cairns. I’m sure sales of aloe vera are brisk.) I didn’t want the day to end, but at least I had more fun planned for my vacation…

To Be Continued

Tasmanian Devils

The iconic Tasmanian devil is the largest surviving carnivorous marsupial. Devils are scavengers, not hunters; they play an important ecological role by cleaning up carcasses. After devils are done you’d never know the carcass had been there, as they eat every single thing: hair, bones, feathers and all. Because of this, it was the farmers who first noticed in the mid-1990s when the devil population began to decline. Farmers reported seeing more dead animals lying around.

That was the first clue that something was wrong with the Tasmanian devils. Now the affliction is known as Devil Facial Tumor Disease, and it’s killed half the devil population. Scientists are mystified on multiple levels. First of all, they have no idea what triggered the outbreak. The tumors are a cancer which is spread through contact; devils bite each other when fighting over food and transmit the disease via bites. This, I learned at a public forum on saving the devils, is highly unusual and has scientists quite perplexed. It is a terrible way to die. As the tumors swell, devils struggle to eat and breathe; in the end they die either of starvation or suffocation.

The University of Tasmania is a center for research, with biologists and doctoral students alike racing to find out more about Devil Facial Tumor Disease and how it can be stopped. Some progress has been made about devils from western Tasmania having more genetic diversity and thus greater resistance. (Eastern devils were hunted for years, reducing their genetic diversity.) Other people are working on last-ditch plans to save the species. Some of these plans include trying to have a disease-free zone and keeping in captivity an extensive devil population from all over Tassie. It may be that the disease will run its course and wipe out most of the devils, but the survivors would be disease-resistant and the species could eventually rebound. On the other hand, there are real concerns that within ten or twenty years wild devils may be extinct. That is why captive devil breeding programs are considered important.

Tasmania has already lost its largest marsupial predator, the thylacine or Tasmanian tiger. The last known thylacine died in 1936, in captivity. Thylacines resembled greyhounds in shape, with broad stripes down their sides. Unfortunately, they developed a taste for sheep, which led to their being hunted into extinction. (It was only a few months before the death of the last thylacine that the state government declared thylacines protected.) At least, the mainstream view holds they are extinct. Some people insist that a few remain in the untamed western wilderness, but no proof has ever come out. Tasmanians now regret the loss of the thylacine, to the extent that license plates feature a stylized picture of one and there is a state cricket team known as the Tigers. I believe that this loss spurs the determination of Tasmanians to save the Tasmanian devil.

Devils are nocturnal and fairly shy around humans, but I saw some at a local wildlife park. They are not cute creatures, in my opinion, but somehow I was drawn to them anyway. Perhaps knowledge of their plight was part of it, but devils are the kind of animal with an innate ability to draw respect. Despite their small stature they are commanding. I timed my visit to coincide with feeding time, and while I wish I turned away a bit faster because it was revolting, I learned a lot from the staff worker. She told us that devils are not, in fact, dirty creatures. After eating we saw the devils begin to bathe in a rather cat-like fashion, which put the myth to rest completely.

I am pleased that I got to see these unique and noble animals, gross eating habits aside. For more information on devils and the Facial Tumor Disease, go to http://www.tassiedevil.com.au/.

Parliament

I recently went to Canberra, Australia’s capital (for the record, they do in fact spell it ‘capital,’ unlike Washington, D.C. which is ‘capitol’). I was in Canberra to attend the Australian-American Fulbright Commission’s Enrichment Seminar. This was a three-day seminar, but I stayed a few extra days to take in more of the city.

Canberra (emphasis on the first syllable: CAN-burra) is in many ways similar to Washington, D.C. When negotiations were taking place for Federation (that is, the uniting of all Britain’s Australian colonies into a single independent country, which occurred in 1901), a major sticking point was the location of the capital. The contenders were Sydney and Melbourne, which were rival cities and couldn’t stand for the other to have the honor of being the capital. If Sydney was chosen, the colony of Victoria would be unlikely to join. On the other hand, if Melbourne was chosen, New South Wales would stay separate. The solution was to build a new city as the federal capital, in a location roughly between Sydney and Melbourne. Thus Canberra was born.

Canberra is the heart of the tiny Australian Capital Territory, or ACT. As cities go it is fairly small, with a population of roughly 350,000. It was a planned city, and that is obvious. The Fulbright Commission drove us up to a lookout on Mt. Ainslie and we could clearly see how structured Canberra is. It was 1927 before the city was ready to take over as Australia’s capital, so Canberra is quite a young city.

Until recently Canberra suffered a poor reputation. A common joke was that the only good thing about living in Canberra was that all your relatives lived interstate. This hasn’t gone away entirely. A few of us were talking before class started one day last week and one of my classmates said, “A week in Canberra! You’ll die of ennui.” (That is, boredom.)

As it turned out, I could easily have spent another two or three days in Canberra. The first two and a half days were packed with events for the Fulbright Enrichment Seminar, and then I took in Floriade, which is the spring flower festival, the National Gallery, the Australian War Memorial, the Royal Australian Mint, and part of the National Botanic Gardens. I fully intended to make it to the National Museum, but never made it there.

One of the highlights for me was our visit to Parliament House. Opened in 1988, it’s sometimes referred to as “New Parliament House” to distinguish it from Old Parliament House. (Old Parliament House was built to be temporary, but it was used for sixty-one years.) The Fulbright Commission took us there for Question Time, and happily we were given good seats in the central gallery.

Question Time is unlike anything that happens in American government, and I guarantee more people would watch C-SPAN if we had something similar. On the other hand, we got an interesting take on the downside from one of the Prime Minister’s aides. He told us that Question Time is what people see on TV and it leaves them with a negative view of government. For the record, therefore, Question Time is only an hour and a half, four days a week when Parliament is in session, and the rest of the time government continues in a more sedate fashion.

To facilitate understanding, I’ll give a brief summary of Australian government. It is a parliamentary system, modeled on the British system. The upper house is the Senate and the lower house is the House of Representatives. Don’t let the fact that they have the same names as U.S. houses of Congress fool you into thinking it’s a presidential system like ours.

The House of Representatives, like the British House of Commons, is the seat of real power, so I’ll focus on that now. The most important person is the Prime Minister – since January of this year, the Honorable Kevin Rudd. (Side note: the official business, such as the seating chart we were given, notes titles. Once a person serves as a minister they are forevermore known as “the Honorable.” On the other hand, this is a country where Parliament House was built into a hill so ordinary people can walk on the roof of government. Sometimes, Australia is a land of contradictions.) The Prime Minister is the leader of the ruling party in the House of Commons. There is never an election for Prime Minister.

Ministers are chosen from the ruling party, which currently is the Australian Labor Party. Usually Aussies spell it ‘labour’ but this name was taken from the American Labor Party decades ago and thus uses American spelling, which I think is an interesting factoid. The role of a minister is most easily compared with the secretary of a Cabinet department in the U.S., but it’s an inexact comparison because ministers come from the House of Representatives. Other representatives, those who aren’t ministers, are known as “backbenchers.” Ministers sit on the front bench, or in this case rows of seats, while all others are behind them.

The opposition, currently the Liberal Party of Australia, sits on the other side of the room, with a few Independents and Nationals in between. When we were there the opposition had just shuffled its leadership, choosing Malcolm Turnbull as the new leader of the opposition. Quite unlike U.S. government, the opposition has a shadow government. There is, therefore, a shadow minister of the treasury, and so on. The main role of the shadow government, as far as I can tell, is to point out exactly what they think the government is doing wrong.

We were escorted to our seats and given a handy seating plan and list of members. Down below we had a straight view to the Speaker. His job during Question Time is to moderate, and even though he’s a member of the government (that is, the ruling party) I found him to be quite fair. Occasionally he would call out such things as “The Member for Flinders will withdraw” or “The Member for Herbert is warned.” He also gives the floor to the next person. Names weren’t used once; representatives were always referred to by title, as in “Member for Flinders” or “Minister for the Treasury.” In the center of the room was a table with two podiums and microphones. On the left sat the Prime Minister, with the ministers behind him and the Labor backbenchers behind them. On the right was the Leader of the Opposition, with the shadow ministers behind him and the Liberal backbenchers behind them.

Two kinds of questions tend to get asked during Question Time: those from the opposition and those from the government. The opposition naturally takes the opportunity to grill the government, asking ministers to defend their positions and hoping to trap them into something that will make a good news headline. The government backbenchers also ask questions, which basically give the ministers a chance to talk about what a great job they are doing. One question came from an Independent, and while his was slightly critical he didn’t use it to attack the government, and in return Kevin Rudd gave him a very polite answer. Polite, I assure you, is rare during Question Time.

Question Time had just started when we arrived, after thorough security screening which, to my regret but not surprise, meant my camera had to be left behind. As we filed in, the Prime Minister was answering a question about the economy. This was shortly after the disaster on Wall Street so economic woes were at the forefront of government worries. Kevin Rudd said something that caused all members of the opposition to laugh as if on cue. It was quite startling, but turned out to be common on both sides. Laughter, discontented murmurings, and resounding cries of “hear, hear!” are common and happen in such tandem that I hardly would have been surprised to see cue cards.

As the Liberal representatives laughed, Rudd said that the economy seemed to be “a matter of some hilarity” for the opposition. This caused discontented murmurings, most of which were impossible to make out from the viewing gallery. One woman was louder than the others, however, and I distinctly heard her reply, “No, you are!”

Welcome to Question Time.

The Minister for the Treasury was one of the more colorful characters. Rather neglecting the issue at hand, he gave a passionate speech about how the Leader of the Opposition is selfish. Turnbull, in his view, isn’t interested in what’s best for Australia, he’s interested in what’s best for himself. Warming to the subject, the Minster for the Treasury declared, “You could almost see the self-righteousness wafting out of him as he quoted himself.”

I wasn’t kidding when I said more people would watch C-SPAN if our Congress had Question Time.

Most of the questions focused on the economy, the environment and climate change (this one was big for the government backbenchers asking questions that allowed ministers to discuss how wonderful they are, to resounding calls of “hear, hear!” from Labor backbenchers.) One of the final questions dealt with binge drinking among young adults, which is a growing problem here. It pleased the government to no end to inform the House that an independent report commissioned by the previous government suggested a higher tax on pre-mixed bottled drinks known as “alcopops,” an action already taken by the current government. This provided a handy opportunity for the government to accuse the opposition of standing for getting young girls drunk.

During most of the time a government minister was speaking, one of the opposition backbenchers was making a “yap yap yap” sign with his hand. On occasion the person speaking would go on too long, ranting, and their microphone would get cut off. The Minister for the Treasury, after listing some of the excesses of the opposition, taking care to emphasize every word, finished a speech with a rousing, “and they should be condemned!” Spontaneous laughter continued to burst forth from both sides.

We left when Question Time ended, as did most of the representatives. Then we were whisked off to the Ministerial Section for a meeting with the Prime Minister. He is, of course, an extraordinarily busy man, so this was quite an honor for us. We waited in a meeting room, and all stood up as he entered. It was a brief meeting, but we all found Kevin Rudd to be quite personable. He shook hands with each of us, introducing himself simply as “Kevin.” Then he spoke for a minute on the importance of Fulbright, which was the first treaty signed by Australia and America. He also discussed the closeness of Australia’s relationship with America, which won’t change no matter who is elected as the new president; he called Barack Obama to offer his congratulations once Obama was officially chosen as the Democratic candidate, and was quick to add that a couple weeks before he had congratulated John McCain. Following this a photographer took a group photo in front of his official entrance. On the way out to the courtyard for the photo one of the other scholars asked him about coral bleaching, which is what this scholar is studying, and was pleased to inform us afterwards that Kevin Rudd knows what coral bleaching is and is aware of the problem. (Coral bleaching is a loss of color in corals due to a stress-induced loss of photosynthesizing algae. This can kill the coral.)

Afterwards the Prime Minister’s aide took us up to the roof, where we got a lovely view, and some of us took the opportunity to listen to his insider view on Parliament. That was when he lamented the skewed view of politics that Question Time creates, and he said that the Liberal Party will try to blame economic woes on the government, while the government notes that they’ve only been in power nine months so a lot of the problems can be traced to the previous government. Some things in democracies are truly the same everywhere.

It was an afternoon I’ll never forget. Meeting the Prime Minister was a great honor, and I’m still chuckling over “You could almost see the self-righteousness wafting out of him as he quoted himself.”

Australian Words and Phrases

Below are some common Australian words and phrases. I’ve noticed myself starting to use some of them. Much to my surprise I walked by a branch of ANZ bank and thought of it as “zed,” not “zee.” Most of the time, though, I continue to amuse people with my American speech.

Good on you = good for you; the correct response is “Thank you,” not, “On me? Where?”

She’ll be right = everything will be fine

Aussie = Australian, pronounced “Ozzie”

Tassie = Tasmania/Tasmanian

Oz = Australia

Sunnies = sunglasses

Chokkies = chocolates, esp. as in “hot chokky”

Bikkies = biscuits, which can refer to cookies, crackers, and dry pet food; what we would consider a biscuit is a scone

Tea = the drink, a snack, or the evening meal; the first time I was asked if I had ingredients for tea, I wondered how complicated it can be to make a cup of tea – until I realized this was tea as in dinner

Ta = thanks

Petrol = gasoline

Prezzies = presents

Pikkies = pictures

Uni = university

Lollies = lollipops and hard candies

Hoppies = any of the hopping marsupials

Cockies = cockatoos

Posties = postmen/women

Trolley = shopping cart

Rice Bubbles = Rice Krispies, which are made by Kellogg’s and everything

Blokey = masculine

Have a feed = eat

Note = bill, as in a $10 note

Full on = hardcore, completely

SMS = text message

EFTPOS = debit card

Off = spoiled, rotten (as in vegetables going off)

Reckon = think; Australians don’t do much thinking, as they prefer to reckon

There is also a trend to emphasize adjectives by following them with “as.” For instance, very cold is “cold as.” American food is “sweet as.”

Port Arthur Con't

Isle of the Dead is Port Arthur’s cemetery. It’s a very small island, divided so that convicts, lunatics, and paupers were laid to rest on the lower southern side while military and ‘respectable’ people were buried on the higher northern end. The island is reached by a short boat trip with commentary. My tour guide on the island said that the guides like giving the Isle of the Dead tour because they get a chance to talk about some of the individual people. I must say that I am usually a fanatical picture-taker. When travelling alone I’m prone to snapping the best self-portrait I can manage with historical or tourist sites in the background. I only took a couple pictures on the Isle of the Dead, however, and none with me. It didn’t seem right, somehow, to have a smiling picture of me in such a somber place. The tour was very informative and sensitive. We got to learn about several individuals, both convict and free. There was one convict who had been transported at 19 for stealing a silk coat that belonged to his father – and his father was the prosecutor! (The prosecutor as the term was used here was the wronged party pursuing legal action, not the lawyer.) We don’t know if this was a case of borrowing Dad’s clothes or something more serious, or if the father knew his son could end up on the other side of the world. However, when this man died at age 32 he had one of the nicer grave markers. (They don’t used the term “headstones” because they can’t be sure they are actually over the heads.) Few convicts had anything to mark their graves, which wasn’t even allowed until 1853. At the bottom of this marker, however, is chiseled “T. Pickering.” Thomas Pickering was a convict stonemason, and he’d been friends with the deceased man for eight years. He didn’t usually sign his work, either. It’s an interesting story of how friendships could be formed under the harsh conditions. I found it rather heartwarming to hear of this story, because Port Arthur was most often a place of broken men, broken hearts, and broken spirits.

Point Puer (Latin for “youth” or “boy”) juts out and nearly touches the Isle of the Dead. It’s a hugely significant site because it was the first juvenile detention center in the British Empire (and possibly the world, we were told). Many youths were getting into trouble and being transported; the age at which you were legally responsible for your actions was 7. Lieutenant Governor George Arthur decided that it might be a better idea to have a separate place for children, away from the hardened adult criminals. In 15 years some 3,000 boys were at Point Puer, most of them between the ages of 14 and 17 but some as young as 9. (Girls weren’t sent to Point Puer; the female convict system was distinct.) This was really forward-thinking for the time. So much so, in fact, that the British copied the idea at home and stopped transporting youth altogether. This made Point Puer unnecessary, so it closed in 1849. Also forward-thinking was Commandant Booth, the man in charge of Port Arthur when Point Puer opened. He insisted on giving the boys full rations. Generally at the time men would get one ration, women half a ration, and children even less. Anyone who has ever seen a teenage boy eat knows that this really doesn’t make any sense! Booth also allowed for a small bit of free time, albeit heavily regulated, in the morning and evening. In between, the boys worked hard.

However hard the work, the focus at Point Puer was on reform. Therefore the boys were taught basic reading, writing, and arithmetic. Although the effectiveness of this has been questioned, I suspect it varied based on each boy. They were also provided with religious instruction, which at that time was strictly Christian, and about half of the boys learned a trade under the supervision of a tradesman. Since Point Puer couldn’t accommodate teaching all the boys a trade, they all started out doing hard labor (clearing trees, tilling soil, etc.) and those who made a favorable impression with their attitude and actions were given the opportunity to learn a skilled trade. This would allow them to be productive citizens once they were free; ideally this would be a win-win situation for the colony and the boys. Trades taught included tailoring, stonecutting, carpentry, shoe-making, coopering, and nail-making.

Sadly, there is very little left at Point Puer. After its closure the buildings were demolished and useful material was brought across the harbor to the main settlement. We saw the wall, which is all that remains of the sawmill, and some foundations. Our guide helped bring it to life by tracing the experiences of three boys. Of particular note were a couple of curving stones left in the foundation of the trades area. They were carved by inexperienced boys but the work was very admirable.

A stunning example of the boys’ workmanship is Port Arthur’s church. It was built by convicts in the 1830s using stones and bricks. The stones were shaped by Point Puer boys. While fire ravaged the inside (consuming, among other things, pews that were also the work of Point Puer boys), the walls are in excellent condition. This is an imposing neo-Gothic church with a front that resembles a castle, a complex shape that bends in at the back before flaring out, and an enormous arched window in the back. Inside, the empty space produces a bit of an echo, magnifying the volume of spoken words. Since the church was built up a small hill, it has a lovely view out the thin arched windows. Inside the rather small but magnificent church was one of those places that feels special, when I become calm and somber, a bit awestruck and a great deal contemplative.

It was hard to tear myself away from the lovely church, but there was more to see. I had yet to look at the Separate Prison. Once there, I decided it was the most chilling part of Port Arthur. The Separate Prison was built to try a new prison reform idea: sensory deprivation. For twenty-three hours a day, men were locked in a tiny cell with only a small window above their heads. The thick walls prevented talking with their neighbors, and there was nothing to do. For one hour a day, they were allowed to walk around, but even this was done with their head covered except the eyes. At Port Arthur this was used for the prisoners that were continuous offenders and considered incorrigible.

This sounds horrific, and it was. The cells were very small and dark. It’s no wonder that so many men went insane. However, I understand that the prison reformers were trying to do a good thing. It was unpleasant to be whipped and work in chain gangs while on minimal food rations and in thin clothing, so the reformers sought what seemed to be a more humane alternative. The idea was that this time alone would give the men an opportunity to reflect on their sins and change their ways. Problematically, this had already failed in England before the Separate Prison at Port Arthur was completed, and therein lies the biggest problem to my mind.

It was easy to understand how men went insane, and after leaving the Separate Prison I took a few minutes to savor the fact that I am alive, and free. I stopped to watch the charming green rosellas flit around the lawn, chirping their bird songs. I admired a heron standing stoically in Settlement Creek, the stream that was crucial to Port Arthur. After all, a key way that we process information is to empathize with it. The Separate Prison left me needing a few moments to center myself in the present and achieve just a bit of detachment, a reminder that this horror was not my own to experience.

The Penitentiary was a less emotional building for me to visit. It’s enormous and dominates the cluster of buildings it sits in. (The church is on the other side, a short walk away.) Originally it was built as a flour mill. Here Linus Miller, one of the Americans I’m researching who was sent to Port Arthur for absconding (running away), had to “tread the wheel.” As there was not often enough water to run the mill, convicts would turn it by walking up steps endlessly. This was tiring, of course, but they had to be careful not to miss a step. The wheel would keep going, making missing a step very dangerous. Concentration was therefore also required, but the task was so tedious it’s only natural for minds to wander. Convicts hated treading the wheel. Fortunately for them, the mill experiment only lasted a few years. The soil around Port Arthur isn’t very good, and authorities were already bringing in the grain by ship; eventually it occurred to them that they might as well just bring the grain already ground into flour. Thereafter the mill was given an addition and turned into a place to house convicts. In the 1890s the Penitentiary burned in a bushfire and then slowly collapsed. Part of the front wall has been rebuilt, although you can’t really tell just looking at it. A staircase has been built inside, which gives visitors the chance to climb up and look at the huge building with its internal walls stretching out below them. The Penitentiary was a four-story building, and as odd as it may sound I suspect it may look even more impressive than if it was in pristine condition. There’s something about being able to look down from the staircase and see from one end to the other inside the building that is fascinating.

Six of the Americans I’m studying were sent to Port Arthur, all for absconding. From Linus Miller’s memoir we know that he and another American man left their work party to see if it would be possible to get passage away from Van Diemens’ Land for the entire work party. They hoped to find sympathetic American whalers who would smuggle them out. Alas, it wasn’t to be. However, not many convicts wrote memoirs and fewer still wrote memoirs of Port Arthur. Miller’s account is used by the Port Arthur administrators and is a valuable resource.

In the end, “fascinating” is a perfect word to describe Port Arthur.

Port Arthur

Before I can describe Port Arthur, I need to outline a bit of history. Industrialization in Great Britain resulted in increased crime for multiple reasons. As farms consolidated and less agricultural jobs were available, people crowded into growing cities looking for work. Even if they could find work the wages were very low. Some people resorted to stealing to eat; others turned to alcohol and opium to numb the misery of their lives. With jails jam-packed, the British transported criminals to their American colonies, relieving the pressure on jails while providing labor in America. Of course, that ended with the American Revolution, and the British had to look elsewhere. Meanwhile, industrialization picked up its pace and the jails were getting so full that convicts were kept in old unseaworthy ships in the River Thames.

Australia was strategically located in the Pacific relatively near Britain’s prized colonial possession, India, and there were high hopes for some Australian natural resources, so in 1788 the British founded Sydney as a prison colony. In 1803 Van Diemen’s Land (today known as Tasmania) was founded as a place to send convicts who reoffended.

Now we jump ahead in this whirlwind history to 1833, when a small timber station on a peninsula in southeastern Van Diemen’s Land came to the attention of the Lieutenant Governor, George Arthur. He needed a place to send convicts who continued to commit crimes. The last one, Macquarie Harbor on the west coast, had closed because it was too hard to get to and an unacceptable amount of ships were being lost. Also, convicts escaped too easily.

This small timber station had neither of those problems. If the weather was favorable, it was only an 8 to 10 hour journey from the capital, Hobart, by sea. The peninsula was almost completely surrounded by water; there was only a tiny strip of land to guard. Some convicts might try to escape by sea, but sharks frequented the area, providing a natural deterrent. (Also deterring sea escapes was the fact that in this time period, despite building an empire based on the strength of their navy, the British tended not to be very good swimmers. As one of the Port Arthur tour guides observed, “They spent so much time on the water but they were never in it.”)

Lieutenant Governor Arthur decided to name this new convict station Port Arthur, after himself. In addition to armed guards, a line of dogs was chained across Eaglehawk Neck, the only way out by land, and a few were put out on rafts in the water. Since Port Arthur was where male repeat offenders were sent, there wasn’t an emphasis on reform; the focus was squarely on punishment. The men were worked extremely hard. There were also heavy chains, whippings and solitary confinement on bread and water rations for further punishment.

First the men had to build barracks, then other buildings as needed. Industry was also important, as Port Arthur was ideally going to pay for itself. Timber was a large industry. The large trees around Port Arthur were chopped down by convicts, and then hauled on the shoulders of the men to be cut into useful timber. (Occasionally a tree-felling accident would kill one of the men.) What wasn’t used at Port Arthur was sent to Hobart where the government could use it. Convicts also cut the soft sandstone around Port Arthur and made bricks; these were used to make more sturdy buildings on the site.

With timber all around, a nice deep harbor, and free labor, it made sense to start a dockyard. This opened in 1834, repairing and building ships. While the work was hard – men often spent most of the day partially in the water – it was also considered a promotion because it gave the men a little more control over their lives and also a useful skill. The boats made at Port Arthur were considered as good as any made elsewhere. However, those other boat makers complained about the Port Arthur dockyard, as they found it hard to compete with a place where the workers didn’t have to be paid. As transportation began to decline there was less labor in any case, and the dockyard closed in 1848, although repairs were still made. Before closing, the convicts made 16 large ships and over 150 smaller open boats. You can still see the largest slip from which the ships were launched, although in my opinion it’s sullied by a strange twisting metal “artist’s interpretation of a ship.” That sculpture is my one quibble at Port Arthur; I am firmly against sticking post-modern artistic interpretations in the middle of genuine historic sites.

The last convicts were transported to Tasmania in 1853, and Port Arthur closed in 1877. It was parceled out and sold. Since Port Arthur had all sorts of unpleasant connotations, the inhabitants changed the town’s name to Carnarvon, after the then-current Secretary of State for the Colonies. The site was left to fall apart, although tours were soon operating, bringing curious tourists to see the infamous Port Arthur. Souvenirs were taken by many visitors, as one might expect. Recognizing the importance of the site, the government began buying it back in the 1920s, a process that took until 1949, and the name was changed back to Port Arthur.

Meanwhile, most of the buildings were no more than ruins. This appealed to late Victorians, who loved a good ruin but had few around them in Australia. A few of the structures, especially the military barracks, had been demolished and the bricks sold off. The decay was further aided by a series of fires. The first gutted the church; it started when local residents tried to burn some leaves and the fire got out of control. Then in 1895 and 1897 bushfires further ravaged most of the other buildings.

I spent the better part of two days at Port Arthur before doing research in their Resource Room on the few Americans who were sent there. It is truly an incredible place, and I think the Port Arthur Historic Site Management Authority is to be commended for their excellent work in presenting a difficult and complex subject with sensitivity and without descending into playacting for tourists.

Port Arthur offers different tour packages which include various extras. I never considered anything but the Gold Experience ticket which included everything: an introductory walking tour, the audio tour (sadly, I didn’t get to finish it because my battery died and there were no more units left, but this was informative and, I thought, well-done), a tour of Isle of the Dead, a tour of Point Puer, plus vouchers for morning tea, lunch, and afternoon tea. I was extremely glad I got that package.

To be continued…

Midwinter Solstice Party

Tonight is the longest night of the year, with a 4:43 pm sunset (according to Geoscience Australia) and in Hobart that means a party. It’s time for the Antarctic Midwinter Festival 2008. This stretches out over several days, but tonight was the Midwinter Solstice Party.

The evening started with the March of the Snow Petrels, a parade of people carrying large homemade lanterns in the shape of birds. There were standing, sitting, and flying birds as well as eggs, ranging in size from a foot long and six inches high to a foot long and three feet high. (The largest looked like penguins and not at all what came up when I typed “snow petrel” into Google image search. Snow petrels are pure white, pigeon-sized birds.) All of these were lit by candles placed inside, and the parade was led by a troop of musicians. Coming down the dark street, the line of softly glowing birds was enchanting.

Then the crowd, following the large bird-shaped lanterns, moved into Salamanca Square, where a Latin American music band began to play. I had a very Australian dinner from a bakery while there: chicken curry pie. Australians are very fond of their pies as meals. They come in all sorts of varieties, although the standard beef and vegetable pie is always popular. I have read, and been told, that the international influence in Australian cuisine has only been going on for about twenty years or so, but I think that the curried chicken pie is a good example of that. Today’s Australians do like their Asian dishes, or at least Asian-influenced dishes, but they still like a good pie, so someone decided to combine the two into curried chicken pie. I thought it was tasty.

After dinner I went back out and listened to the music for another twenty minutes or so, until it was time for the fire dancing. This was performed by two young women from Melbourne who were very good. Now, I don’t like too many lit candles all at once unless they’re safely tucked in bowls, and at one point these two were using large rings lit in five places as hula hoops! The crowd loved it, and it looked like the performers enjoyed themselves as well. I had a hard time seeing this, because there were a lot of people clustered around and, as usual, most of them were taller than I am. However, I thoroughly enjoyed what I did see.

From fire we went to ice, as the other event was an ice sculpture. It was a long process, but I watched it with interest because I’ve seen finished ice sculptures but I’ve never seen one being made. The artist wouldn’t tell us what it was until someone guessed, and it was over an hour before anyone did. He started with two large rectangles of ice fused together, then moved to a cylindrical shape with extra ice removed from the middle, which was then cut in half. It wasn’t until he started chipping certain sections of the halves away that someone said, “It’s an hourglass!” Indeed it was, as we saw when the two halves were fused back together, with some snow inside. (The snow was saved from when he shaved the ice, because there certainly wasn’t any on the ground!) It was interesting to watch the progress, and the finished product was admirable.

While watching the ice sculpture progress I amused myself by listening to everyone around me talk about how cold it was. “It’s freezing!” some of them would say. It was certainly not freezing; it was noticeable that the ice was getting softer as the sculptor chipped away at it. It couldn’t have been below 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and when I asked someone what they thought it was, they said the equivalent to 45 degrees Fahrenheit! I had tucked my gloves and fleece earband into my purse because the advertisements said to “bundle up.” I didn’t need them. Being a Mainer born and raised, I thought it was pretty warm for winter. There are still some roses blooming, even!

Nevertheless, while I didn’t feel very Antarctic, I enjoyed the Midwinter Solstice Party. It was a fun way to spend a Saturday evening, and it was all free as well.

Plus, we start getting more daylight after this!

Blue Mountains

While in Sydney I took a day trip to the Blue Mountains. About 30 miles west of Sydney, this geological wonder is misnamed. It’s really more a complex series of gorges than a mountain range. Nonetheless it’s stunning, but I’ll get to that in due time.

It was 25 years before early settlers managed to cross the Blue Mountains; tourists today have a bewildering number of options. I selected OzTrek, a tour company highly recommended by one of my tour books. There were about 22 of us, plus the tour guide, and we headed west in a van.

We took a detour to drive through the 2000 Olympic grounds. There I learned that the Olympic Village, temporarily home to over 10,000 athletes plus their trainers, became another suburb of Sydney after the Games were over. Some 6,000 Australians moved in.

Then it was on to the Blue Mountains, and here is an excellent time to say how glad I was not to be driving! At one point our tour guide was navigating the van around steep hairpin curves, one after another. It was good to be in a passenger’s seat. However, on the other side of all these hairpin curves we found a mob of kangaroos. (While Australians use “mob” frequently for groups and it has no sinister mafia connotations, “mob” is also the technical term for a group of kangaroos.) These were Eastern Grey Kangaroos, and they were lounging in the sun without a care in the world. I’d not seen kangaroos yet, because there aren’t as many in Tasmania. They have such funny little hands (or paws, but they really look more like hands.) One of them had a bulge, our guide pointed out, so there was a joey in her pouch, but its head wasn’t out for us to see.

This was in a national park, so feeding the roos isn’t allowed. However, I suspect they get a lot of tourists gawking at them, and as long as we were 20-25 feet away they weren’t bothered by us in the least. Our guide said that campers and tourists benefit the kangaroos because “a dingo isn’t going to run through your legs to attack them.” So we watched and took pictures as they grazed and groomed themselves. The grass where they were was a prime example of “marsupial lawn.” You’d think somebody mowed it, but that’s the kangaroos, wallabies, and other “hoppies” keeping it down. They’re much cuter than traditional lawn mowers.

We drove a bit further and got out for our first walk. There were bushwalks with OzTrek, which I quite liked. It was a lovely day with clear blue sky; we couldn’t have asked for better weather. Suddenly the Blue Mountains were stretched out before me: undulating gorges, heavily treed, with sandstone edges gleaming in the morning sun. The blue haze got thicker the farther I looked out, slowly melting the sharpness into blue. This effect is from the evaporation of eucalyptus oil.

Since it was a long way down and the ledge path was narrow, I appreciated the nice solid metal railing. (Nevertheless, for multiple reasons, this wouldn’t be a good excursion for young children.) As our group was taking in the delightful view, another tour group came huffing and puffing up. They had climbed all the way down and walked back up. My group had just walked to a nice lookout, and it was clearly steep enough that I didn’t want to trudge all the way down and, worse, back up! I wasn’t at all jealous of the panting, exhausted other tourists. Breathing easily, a few of us in my group commented on how the trees rather looked like broccoli.

We then retraced our steps, piled back into the van, and headed to Katoomba. Katoomba is one of the major towns in the area, and we had a lunch break there. From Katoomba it was a short drive to Echo Point, where the famous Three Sisters rock formation is seen from an angle you’re likely to find in most of the pictures of them. I quite liked the Three Sisters but noticed a smaller, fourth rock; it looked like one of the sisters had a baby. The gorge system, with small mountains or random rock formations, continued for kilometers until it was consumed by the blue haze. I drank in the beauty.

At this point we had a few different options for a bushwalk. I chose the walk most of the group did, which was a good walk down the Furber Steps, and then got a ticket to ride the Scenic Railway back up. It was a delightful walk through a cool rainforest and we got to admire Wentworth Falls from several angles. Our guide told us about a spot where you can see a man’s face in a rock with water cascading down. He was of the opinion that it was the most realistic rock face anywhere. (I, personally, think that New Hampshire’s Old Man in the Mountain was, until it crumbled, more realistic, but I kept that to myself.) Being a cool rainforest, there was a lot of water – water flowing in streams, water in the humid air, water cascading in waterfalls and making muddy spots along the path. Where the first bushwalk had smelled slightly tangy, this one smelled damp and earthy.

Eventually, after some very steep stairs, we reached the Scenic Railway, which is the world’s steepest. Riding it was a fun, if short, experience. The seats weren’t very comfortable, but I think a lot of that was because I’m so short I couldn’t get on the neckrest properly. At one point we went through a tunnel, and of course were at an incredible angle, so this is clearly not for the unadventurous.

The Scenic Railway isn’t part of Blue Mountains National Park. This is important because it means they let you feed the birds. When we disembarked, there by the platform was a large hanging birdfeeder with several king parrots and a couple of blue rosellas. The attendant asked if we’d like the opportunity to feed the birds. I was about to unzip my purse, figuring that the birdseed would be at least fifty cents, when he pulled a dustbin of birdseed out and offered everyone a handful. Australians are big fans of inclusive prices, and I suppose since it was $10 for a one-way ticket they could afford the birdseed. Later, our guide expressed disapproval of feeding the birds, because the birds might live in the national park. I, personally, was delighted. Now, I took the attendant’s remark that they were wild birds with a grain of salt. They’re wild in the sense that they don’t live in cages, yes, but tame enough to know where the tourists will reliably be feeding them.

The rosellas didn’t like eating out of hands and preferred the bird feeder or seed spilled on the platform, but the king parrots would happily eat out of anyone’s hand. Some would perch on your hand, but I fed a female who didn’t stay on my hand long. Feeling sympathetic, I moved my hand close to the railing and she resumed her meal. Then a male came over, and I was treated to having two gorgeous parrots eating out of my hand at the same time. King parrots have green bodies with red heads; the males have much more red. The attendant informed me that when two will eat out of one person’s hand they are a mated pair. Otherwise, as some other parrots thoughtfully demonstrated, they were territorial.

I only tore myself away from the parrots because I was afraid of holding up the group (I didn’t.) We then headed to one more stop, a nice lookout. The sandstone looked warmer bathed in the fading afternoon light, and it highlighted a rock feature known as Boar’s Head. “You Europeans with your dragon stories will probably say it looks like a dragon,” noted our guide. I could see a boar, but it did look more reptilian. In the end I decided it looked most like a crocodile, which seemed fitting because Australia has plenty of the creatures.

On the way back we saw flocks of white cockatoos, which are active at dusk. In one yard I saw a single tree that must have had close to twenty! The darkness put an end to my bird watching. As I settled in for the ride back to Sydney, I marveled again at how blessed I am to be here and have the opportunity to see and do so many wonderful things.

Sydney

I recently returned from a wonderful six-night trip to Sydney. Before I enthuse about the vacation, however, I’m going to share a very important lesson I learned: hotel ratings are not the same in Australia as they are in the US! I used the internet to reserve a room in the Westend Sydney. When I arrived, I found a nightmare. There was no top sheet, just a less-than-squeaky-clean comforter; the pillowcases were so threadbare they were nearly nonexistent, soap and towels were missing altogether, and the curtain was broken so it didn’t cover the whole window. Therefore I had to walk around and the third hotel I tried had an available room. This was the Marque Sydney, where I was generally happy. Now, my original hotel had been rated three stars. My immediate thought was, ‘If this is three stars, one star must come with complimentary rats.’ I was later told by the woman who owns the house where I’m renting a room that three stars in Australia is risky. It never occurred to me that hotel rating systems might be different, and I fully expected an average but livable room as I would anticipate at home.

That aside, I truly enjoyed Sydney. Less than 48 hours before leaving Hobart for Sydney I impulsively bought a ticket to see the Australian Ballet at the Sydney Opera House, and I’m very glad I did. It was one of my better impulse purchases. Plus, the night that I wanted to go featured a Youth Under 27 discount, so I was able to get a good seat for the price of a mediocre seat. The performance was a Jerome Robbins tribute. I had never heard of Jerome Robbins, but it turns out he choreographed West Side Story. He also choreographed a number of ballet pieces, and the Australian Ballet was performing four of them.

It was a bit surreal to be inside the Sydney Opera House. This was the evening of my fifth day in Sydney, so I’d been gazing at the outside for some time. (And photographing it. I was not alone in noticing that there’s a strange phenomenon that draws cameras towards the Sydney Opera House like some kind of magnet. Almost anywhere with a good view of it has tourists with cameras out.) Being inside was another matter altogether. I’ve read that the acoustics aren’t nearly as impressive as the outside. This didn’t strike me as an issue in the ballet, although I must confess that even if it were I probably wouldn’t have noticed. While in the foyer before the show began I was offered a canapé by a neatly dressed waiter. That, for me, was one of the most surreal moments I’ve had in Australia. After all, I’m a small-town girl and have never lived anywhere but Maine until now. Then there I was, nibbling a canapé in the Sydney Opera House.

Each piece got better than the last in my opinion. The last, “The Concert,” was particularly amusing. A pianist came out, and slowly dancers came out as an audience. However, his music couldn’t hold their attention. Several whimsical scenes then happened. According to the program, “The Concert” sprung from the admission that, while attending a performance, audience members’ minds wander. Interestingly enough, I was so entertained by “The Concert” that my mind hardly wandered at all! It ended with the dancers flitting around with butterfly wings. Fed up, the pianist abandoned his music and chased the dancers with a giant butterfly net. It sounds absurd, but it was beautifully done and highly engrossing.

Another highlight of my trip was the Sydney Aquarium. I read nothing but good things in my tour books, and wasn’t disappointed. It’s divided into four sections: Freshwater Rivers, Saltwater Rivers, Southern Oceans, and Northern Oceans. After buying my ticket, I walked through the enormous metal shark mouth and entered, guidebook in hand. The very first exhibit was the platypus. A freshwater creature, it was far more adorable than I anticipated. (There may have been another, but only one was out.) It was about a foot long – smaller than the beaver-sized animal I’d imagined, and this one particularly liked its hollow log. The first I saw of the platypus was its beak inching out of the log. As I was quite captivated, I stayed for several minutes watching it. The first specimen sent back to Europe was assumed to be a hoax. I can’t say I blame those men who decided the platypus couldn’t possibly be a real animal, with its thick fur, large beak, flat tail, and big webbed feet. This doesn’t sound particularly cute, I’m aware. Nonetheless I thought the platypus was cute. It swam around, poking its beak around for food and going in and out of the hollow log.

I finally pulled myself away from the platypus and on to the rest of the aquarium. After looking at the rest of the Freshwater Rivers tanks, which included a very large Murray cod, it was on to the Saltwater Rivers. The star of this section is the “saltie” – the term Australians use for their saltwater crocodile. This happens to be one of few (two, if I remember correctly) crocodile species that will eat adult humans if given half a chance. A 3-D sign helpfully explained that you can tell crocodiles from alligators because both top and bottom teeth are visible, whereas only top teeth are visible if the creature is an alligator. I, however, prefer to keep my distance and a solid barrier between me and any large, toothed reptile. A sign posted on the upper level, where you can look down at the saltie, hammered the danger home. “DO NOT ENTER,” it read. “If the fall does not kill you, the crocodile will.” I didn’t linger.

For the sake of minds used to the northern hemisphere, remember that the Southern Oceans exhibit here is where the cold water creatures will be. The big draw here is the penguin exhibit. While several species of penguins visit Australia, one breeds here: the fairy penguin, aka little penguin. (In fact, much of their breeding ground is here in Tasmania. I may yet get to see them in the wild.) They’re quite small, perhaps nine or ten inches tall, and charming little birds. When I was looking none were in the water, but the sign informed me that the aquarium keeps a current in their water because they enjoy playing in it. Near the penguins, I meandered over to the Southern Oceans Touch Tank. The employee told us that if you put your finger between the spikes of one creature (I forget what species), the spikes slowly close around your finger. I tried this, and it’s a rather strange sensation.

The final section was the Northern Oceans, where there’s a large Great Barrier Reef tank. This had sharks, rays, at least one turtle, and all kinds of brightly colored fish. When I bought my ticket I paid $5 more for the Shark Explorer glass-bottomed boat ride. The thought crossed my mind that going on a boat over a tank full of sharks could be dangerous. However, I was operating on a “no regrets” motto and decided that if sharks were feasting on visitors the aquarium wouldn’t offer such a ride. Besides, if there was even a remote chance that the insurance company thought sharks might eat people, I was certain the Shark Explorer wouldn’t be allowed. So I zipped up the life jacket and went on, and I’m very glad I did. For about 8 minutes I was in a small 8-person aluminum boat with a glass (or, I suspect, plexiglass) bottom, pulled along a rope by an employee. The view was excellent, and even better when I was given a pinch of fish food to drop overboard. A couple dozen fish came up and put on quite a show. The Shark Explorer has been going on for four and a half months, and that’s how the fish are fed now. I also learned that the aquarium has a special government permit to take fish and shellfish out of Sydney Harbour, which happens on occasion, particularly if the sharks have gotten extra hungry. This, it seems, is the risk of keeping sharks in the same giant tank as fish. None of the sharks below me turned out to be man-eating varieties, which I was glad to hear. (There were no great whites, but those are apparently impossible to keep in captivity because, quite apart from that bothersome man-eating business, they like to dive over 20 yards deep.)

Out of the boat and back on land, so to speak, I found clownfish. It wasn’t hard, because there were little kids squealing, “Nemo! Nemo! NemoNemoNemo!” A large poster showed Nemo’s friends and asked if you could find them. Obviously, the Sydney Aquarium benefits from the interest sparked by “Finding Nemo.” The Great Barrier Reef tank was mesmerizing. Even the homely potato cod was impressive because it was enormous. That one didn’t do much; it just hung there in a little grotto. Sadly, I couldn’t stay in the aquarium forever because by that time, having spent over three hours when the tour guides said to allow two, I was quite hungry.

For the record, I passed on fish and chips in the café.

US Navy Visits Hobart

*I have italicized USS Tarawa as is proper with ships’ names, but the Mercury did not.

Yesterday in the grocery store the Mercury caught my eye. The Mercury is the local newspaper, which calls itself “The Voice of Tasmania.” In large print, the front page proclaimed, “Ship Splurge: Sailors to pump $6m into Tassie.” Curious, I read the first paragraph and learned that the sailors are American. I therefore bought the newspaper and took it home to read the story. Learning about American-Australian interactions is quite interesting and this visit has piqued my attention for that reason.

The USS Tarawa was to arrive Saturday morning with 3,000 sailors and Marines. According to the article, the length of stay will be at least through Monday but hasn’t been confirmed. Monday is International Nurses Day and crew members will visit the Royal Hobart Hospital to visit patients. Unfortunately, the Mercury didn’t explain what the crew of a US warship has to do with International Nurses Day. In any case, the crew will also attend a commemoration ceremony for the Battle of the Coral Sea, “the combined American and Australian naval and air engagement that effectively halted the Japanese southern advance towards Australia.” (Though we rarely hear about it at home, Australia was a major player in the Pacific Theater of WWII. This makes sense, really; Japan was looking for land and resources, two things Australia has in abundance. Northern Australia was bombed during the war.)

The figure of $6 million dollars comes from the US Government, as “the Consulate General of the United States in Perth said yesterday that visits by US Navy Expeditionary Strike Groups brought $2 million a day to local economies.” Because of this, more shops are expected to be open on Sunday. This should work out well, because Captain Brian Luther of the Tarawa said, “Hobart is an exotic city that Tarawa sailors and marines have been looking forward to coming to for months.” Further comments in the article discussed how businesses were encouraged to take advantage of American business.

This was all interesting, but the shock came when I flipped to page two to read the rest of the article. Next to it was an article that began, “Hobart’s sex worker population is likely to double during a visit from the USS Tarawa…”

On second thought, coming from the Navy town of Brunswick, I probably shouldn’t have been so shocked. However, I am generally content to live my sheltered academic life. (And yes, prostitution is legal and regulated in Australia. That I already knew, but the Prostitutes Tasmania spokeswoman’s quote would’ve made it clear anyway.) Apparently prostitutes come from other Australian states for the visits of US ships. I am far from thrilled that this is a major component of Hobart’s interaction with Americans.

There was also a more hopeful article of a couple who met when he came to Hobart in 1999. They got married, and last year, after he left the Navy, moved to Tasmania. It was a sweet story complete with a color photo of the couple with their three-year-old daughter. That, I thought, was more like it.

The Mercury has a section where apparently random people are asked their views on a topic. Yesterday’s question was “Do you enjoy US warship visits to Hobart?” The results were as follows: five people said yes, mostly citing the economic boost; one person didn’t care; another person was from the Gold Coast (on the mainland) but said if she lived here she would; and two people said no, one not caring much and one with the more worrisome “I know it’s good for business but personally I wouldn’t let them into our state. I can’t stand American sailors.” I will confess that after reading that I wondered if he thinks Australian sailors are saints. Being away from home makes me prone to bouts of patriotism.

I’ve been blessed with a splendid living situation here, renting a room in a house. The lovely woman who owns this house said, “My first thought [about the sailors] was, ‘How many babies are they going to leave behind?’” I promptly asked for permission to quote her in this blog post.

This is a totally different look at Americans, and by no stretch can it be considered entirely complimentary. Businesses, however, are happy. I’ve been told by friends that huge amounts of Budweiser are ordered for the occasion of US ship visits, and some young women deliberately dress shabbily so as not to attract unwanted attention (others, sadly, get excited and text message each other when the ship arrives in hopes of having a fling). Happily, other sailors engage in more wholesome pursuits such as bushwalking, and I imagine that restaurants do quite well also.

I wonder if any of the sailors try Vegemite…

The Sunday Tasmanian came out while this post was in the proofreading stage, and the headline declared in big bold letters, “Ahoy, big spenders.” There were also two small articles about the crew enjoying the city, one entitled “Taken By Our Picturesque Port.” Lest anyone think it’s just hometown pride, Hobart really is a beautiful city tucked between the River Derwent and Mount Wellington.

Pulp Mill Controversy

One of the hottest topics in Tasmania is the proposed construction of a pulp mill in the north. Almost everyone is opposed to the idea, excepting people involved in the industry. Crucially, the government supports the mill. In fact, both state and federal governments have given the green light.

Gunns is the company proposing this. I checked on their website in an attempt to get some semblance of a balanced view. The section on the pulp mill boldly proclaims, “the world’s greenest pulp mill.” I could hardly believe my eyes at that. My information on the anti-pulp mill side comes from average Tasmanians, who can recite a litany of complaints. The biggest one is that the pulp mill will be an environmental disaster.

To start with, hardly anyone is convinced that Gunns cares about sustainability. Few people like the idea of chopping down Tasmania’s forests for pulp. This is already happening on quite a large scale, it seems, but the wood chips are currently being exported to Japan. (I’m told the Japanese make a killing off this, because they insist on low prices for the wood chips and then sell paper at a high profit. However, retirement funds are invested in this, so Tasmania can’t just stop easily. ) Many cars have a bumper sticker proclaiming “Save Tassie’s Forests!” or “Vote Green.”

The concerns don’t stop there. The proposal is for a mill that would pump polluted water into the Bass Strait, which separates Tasmania from mainland Australia. Gunns says the influence of toxins is “negligible” but the general consensus is that introducing toxins into the ocean and food chain is a lousy idea. Further concerns are over air quality, harm to endangered animals, and the vast amount of water needed. Environmental issues aside, other people are upset that the state government will be spending money on the infrastructure.

Thousands of people have participated in protests. There was even a student protest day here in Hobart, and the impression I gathered is that students were allowed to leave school for the event. I recently heard a news report that a poll was taken on what Tasmanians think should be the priority for government spending. A mere 1% replied the pulp mill, and a leader of the anti-pulp mill movement went on record as being surprised it was that high.

Here I must admit that I was not impressed with the pulp mill proponents in a television news report because they tried to paint peaceful protesters as terrorists. There was the footage of protesters with signs, not even saying anything. Yes, they weren’t moving when asked, but the man who said, “We have laws against terrorism” seemed ridiculous to me. Talk of creating jobs and economic growth is legitimate, but resorting to a brazen attempt to classify people who disagree with you as terrorists – a word with strong connotations and the ability to raise fear – is dodgy. (“Dodgy” is an Australian word that fits well here. It means questionable, with an implication of deliberate misuse.)

At this point it would be natural to wonder how the pulp mill ever got off the ground. This is the story I was told: the government was working on the review process, which involved looking at the environmental impact among other things. The president of Gunns did not like how long the review process was taking, so he called up his friend the premier. (The role of premier is more or less like a governor in the US.) The premier therefore drafted a new, shorter review process which omitted aspects of the original.

Following this, a letter to the editor appeared in the Mercury, Hobart’s newspaper. The author said that they applied for permission to put an addition on their house, but the Hobart City Council was taking a long time approving it. “Maybe,” the frustrated homeowner continued, “I should ring up the premier and see if he can speed things up.”

If this pulp mill goes ahead, it will be against the wishes of nearly all Tasmanians. Whether or not democracy and environmentalism can win remains to be seen.

Salamanca Market

Every Saturday in Hobart, an area usually serving as a road and parking lot is filled with merchants and customers coming out for the Salamanca Market. Salamanca is the name of the area, although why it’s named after a Spanish city I’ve not determined. In any case, the market is really not to be missed should you happen to find yourself in Hobart. According to the official website, over 300 vendors are at the Salamanca Market.

Today is a fine sunny day, perfect for perusing the market. About a third of my fellow passengers on the bus got off as well. I’ve been told that Salamanca Market is not just for tourists, although there is a cheaper market in a more distant suburb on Sundays that attracts a higher percentage of locals. (Every one of my four travel guides mentioned Salamanca Market. Not one mentioned this other market, which I haven’t been to.) As with my previous visits, it was rather crowded. Apparently the best time to beat the crowds is as soon as the stalls are open at 8:30, but I’d rather maneuver through crowds than get up that early on a Saturday.

Salamanca Market is a feast for the senses. There’s always live music of varying quality. When I arrived a band from South America was setting up. They also had CDs for sale with “music from the Andes,” and I thought they were quite good. Most of the musicians I’ve seen are solo acts. It seems to me that some musically inclined Hobart youth take to Salamanca in the hopes of earning some cash. I was particularly impressed with the boy – he looked about 12 – who was playing a keyboard and harmonica at the same time. To do this the harmonica was attached to a stand around his neck. He seemed to favor Elton John music, and did a good job with it. I dropped a couple of coins in his hat.

As you walk past food vendors, delicious aromas tempt you. There are sausages, desserts, crepes, mushroom tempura, coffee, tea, and juice. The fine artisan ice cream drew me in, and I opted for a scoop of spiced apple and blackberry. It was excellent, particularly because the blackberry wasn’t pureed beyond what was needed to work it in ice cream.

Up on a box stood a man dressed in seventeenth-century style clothes, covered in gray paint from head to toe and at work as a living statue. Intrigued, I looked closed and noticed that the lid of his donation box said “Abel Tasman 1603-1659.” Tasman, a Dutch mariner, was the first European to discover Tasmania. (This, incidentally, was almost 130 years before Captain Cook landed in eastern Australia. Tasmanians are therefore less enamored of Captain Cook than people in, say, Sydney; they are much bigger fans of Tasman.) This ‘Abel Tasman’ seemed to be doing the best of anyone as far as tips went. Of course, he made it fun to tip. When I dropped fifty cents in the box, he slowly tipped his hat.

While a few people sell traditional tourist goods, most of the vendors at Salamanca are selling their own products. The best price I’ve seen for the renowned Tasmanian leatherwood honey was at a stall here. It’s good honey, too. Others sell candy (“lollies” is the term here) and two stalls sell baked goods. Produce is also popular. The Hmong are known for their excellent vegetables; this community of refugees from Laos introduced some Asian vegetables to Tasmania in the 1970s. Not feeling very adventurous about vegetables this morning, I just got snow peas, but I’ll have to try their bok choy sometime. Other farmers sell many apple varieties, certified organic produce, and their own jams.

There are some very talented craftspeople who sell their work at Salamanca Market. Woodworking is the most common. Tasmania has some unique and/or rare trees that make lovely wood crafts. (I will write about the conservation vs. forestry issue soon, because that is another topic entirely.) Huon pine, which grows nowhere else, is particularly prized; other featured timbers are myrtle, celery top pine, southern sassafras, blackwood, and leatherwood. None of this comes particularly cheap, but there are beautiful products made out of them. I am especially fond of the cheese boards with wood-handled cheese knives.

One vendor has photo albums between old Tasmanian license plates. Several sell jewelry of various types, from beads to coral to handmade glass. There are metal sculptures, earthy pieces of pottery, 100% Australian sheepskin slippers, wool sweaters, and coin purses made of kangaroo fur. You can buy a boomerang, either a cheap tourist version or one actually made by Aborigines. The authentic boomerangs make a wonderful, classy souvenir, and I found one reasonably priced. (It also has the benefit of providing employment for Australia’s woefully underemployed Aboriginal people.) Tasmania has the largest lavender field in the southern hemisphere, and lavender products are for sale at Salamanca Market, as are handmade soaps and natural beauty products. Just walking along and looking at everything is a wonderful experience. However, I find that the occasional purchase is more fun!

Promite

Trying new food, to me, is an important part of experiencing Australia. Most of the time this has been enjoyable. I liked eating fresh figs and blueberry cinnamon ice cream. Unsurprisingly, however, it’s not always so good. Promite falls memorably into this category.

Promite is a brand-name vegetable extract spread, as opposed to the more famous Vegemite, which is a yeast extract spread. Apparently there is some polarization among Australians over which one is superior. Promite is a black spread that does not look very appetizing, but some Australians insist that it’s delicious if you put just a little bit on bread. (The rest prefer Vegemite.) So I cautiously dabbed some on a sliver of buttered toast.

Suppose for a minute that you were to get a bit of warm road tar, generously salted, and put it on perfectly good toast. That’s what Promite tastes like. All thoughts of being polite about my opinion flew out the window as my eyes grew large in alarm. It was bitter and how anyone could consider it edible is quite beyond me. I did manage to swallow the bite, and quickly reached for my glass of milk.

After gulping milk in a desperate attempt to wash away the taste, I looked at the rest of my toast sliver. I should’ve known something that looked like toxic waste sludge would taste the same. “That’s hideous!” I exclaimed as soon as I recovered the ability to speak.

Fortunately the Australian who provided the Promite was amused rather than offended. His American girlfriend doesn’t like it either, and she remarked that it is too salty. I thought that was its most redeeming virtue, since the salt provided a small measure of distraction from the horrifying taste.

I haven’t yet worked up the nerve to try Vegemite.

Wineglass Bay

Easter weekend is the last big weekend to go out camping in Tasmania. It is more or less comparable to Labor Day weekend at home. I had the opportunity to join in on this and go on an overnight trip to Freycinet (pronounced Fray-SIN-ay) Peninsula on the eastern coast. Named by a French explorer, most of the peninsula is a national park. It's a lovely scenic place, popular with bushwalkers, campers, and wildlife lovers.

We headed out in the morning to see Wineglass Bay, which adorns many pictures of Tasmania. However, it's not easy to get to. The Australians who were on the beach seemed to prefer it that way, making visitors work to get there. I appreciate the remote nature of Wineglass Bay, but as I was huffing and puffing uphill I dearly wished for some sort of setup involving a ski lift.

The route to Wineglass Bay is between two mountains over what they call the saddle. The sign put up by park services describes it as "moderate." Being much more an academic than an athlete, I made a mental note to pass on any future walks considered "strenuous." It's a fairly pretty walk, although I only noticed that when I stopped for a bit of water. Otherwise I was watching my steps so I didn't twist an ankle. The path is littered with rocks, roots, and turns. It probably took 45 or 50 minutes to reach the top, where we were rewarded with a gorgeous panorama. Stretching out below in the distance was Wineglass Bay, looking very inviting after the rugged walk. The circular bay really does look like a wineglass, or at least two thirds of a wineglass. Quartzite sand gleamed white under the strong Tasmanian sun, and the bright turquoise water appeared serene from the lookout.

At the lookout I overheard several people remark, "It's too far." I thought quite the opposite. How could I get that close and not go down to the beach? Fortunately the people I was with felt the same, and we walked down for a picnic lunch and swim. There were other people on the beach, but not as many as I expected. I have a picture where it looks like I'm the only one there!

While Wineglass Bay is beautiful from the lookout, it's downright stunning from the beach. Outside magazine named it as one of the world's top ten beaches, and it's easy to see why. The water was amazingly clear and mesmerizing, partnered perfectly with the white sand. I didn't do much swimming because I didn't want to take my glasses off, as my vision is hopeless without them. (That and talk of a nearby seal colony that attracts sharks.) Even better than the water, which was a delightful temperature, was the vista before me. I had a wonderful time walking along, soaking in the scenery. Feeling poetic, I jotted down the following: There was never a wineglass with such wine as this. I am drunk on beauty.

The hard part was leaving. As the trees blocked my view of the blue water and the sound of crashing waves faded, I consoled myself with the thought of my comfortable bed and running water in Hobart.

Happily, other people alerted us to the presence of a wallaby near the end of the trail. It was a small wallaby, seemingly unbothered by the young children a couple of yards away. Instead its attention was on nibbling at the ground and an itch on one arm, which it scratched with the other in a human-like fashion. This marsupial eased the transition between the isolated, carefree beauty of Wineglass Bay and the reality of returning to Hobart.

There are some places that have to be experienced to truly appreciate the beauty, and Wineglass Bay is one of them. It was totally worth a night without running water - a statement I don't make lightly! I will cherish this experience, and my many pictures, forever.