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.

How I Got Here

The fall of 2006 I began my senior year at University of Maine Farmington, as a history major. The previous year I had happened upon the memoirs of a few American men transported by the British to Tasmania as criminals for participating in the Canadian Rebellion in 1838. I chose that as the topic of my capstone project. My advisor, Dr. Ken Orosz, himself a Fulbright alum, suggested I consider applying for a Fulbright Scholarship to Australia.

The Fulbright program, through the U.S. Department of State, provides the opportunity for Americans to travel to other countries and citizens of those other countries to travel to the U.S. It allows for professional and academic research and cultural exchange. For more information, go to http://us.fulbrightonline.org/home.html.

I discovered that the Archives Office of Tasmania holds the convict records, and that Dr. Hamish Maxwell-Stewart, co-author of a book on these men, teaches at the University of Tasmania. Hobart, the capital of Tasmania, was clearly the place I wanted to be. After Dr. Maxwell-Stewart agreed to work with me should I be granted a scholarship, I began the long application process. By October I had mailed the application and tried not to spend too much time wondering about it.

In March of 2007 I was informed that I had been selected as an alternate Fulbright Scholar. I didn’t hear further news, so started my graduate studies at the University of Maine in September. It was the same month when I found out that I would be able to go because more funding was available, and my flurry of preparations began.

I landed in Hobart the afternoon of February 21, and will be in Australia until November 17. This is the Australian academic year. The University of Tasmania is generously letting me audit a course each semester; this semester I’m enjoying Historical Indigenous Australia. Most of my time will be spent in Hobart, but I’ll also be travelling around Tasmania and making two or three trips to mainland Australia. (Anyone unfamiliar with Australian geography can look at http://www.aus-emaps.com/ to familiarize themselves.)

There are days, and moments, when this all seems a bit surreal. For instance, I sat down on a bench in Franklin Square and looked at the statue of Sir John Franklin. Best known for his polar expeditions, Franklin spent a few years as the lieutenant governor of Van Diemen’s Land (the former name of Tasmania). The American men who I am here to study arrived when Franklin was in charge, and in their memoirs vilified him. Franklin’s statue has graceful water fountains around it that cascade inwards, drawing the eyes of passers-by to his aristocratic pose. The statue clearly indicates that Franklin was a man worthy of respect. Then, starting on the top of his head and dripping down his forehead, are trails of bird poop. I found it amusing, and like to think that the American convicts would also have appreciated the irony.

When I started that application process a year and a half ago in Farmington, I never could have imagined this. It really is a dream come true.