The Camps in Australia--Part I

 

Roland and I just returned from a trip to Australia and New Zealand, so my next four blog posts will be a mini travel log. We went to Australia first, so I'll start there, although not in chronological order. We began and ended that part of the trip in large cities, so I'll describe them both now and leave the rest of Australia for next week.

We had booked a land tour with EF Go Ahead Tours, but we arrived in Melbourne two days early as insurance against travel delays and to give us more time to deal with jet lag.

Our hotel was across the street from Flinders Street Station, a commuter railroad station that is modern inside but classic outside, as you can see from the photo. The Australian Open (tennis) was going on at the time, and the entire city was obsessed with it. Even the hotel greeted us with chocolate tennis rackets, although they weren’t full size.

Our first full day in Melbourne was a Sunday, and we went to church at St Johns Southgate (Lutheran Church of Australia) before taking a cruise up and down the Yarra River. On the walk from the church to the river, we passed the Melbourne Arts Center, which reminded me of the Eiffel Tower. During the cruise, we passed under a number of bridges, some of which were so low they almost took my head off. Melbourne makes good artistic use of its bridges, though. The next photos show the Melbourne Arts Center, and the sculptures on one of the bridges.

The next day we didn’t meet our tour group until dinner, so we spent our free morning at the Immigration Museum. It had very little about Australia’s settlement by convicts since that occurred in Sydney rather than Melbourne, which was mostly settled by gold-seekers. The museum had several exhibits about the First Peoples (our equivalent of Native Americans and not treated any better—maybe even worse). But there was also a lot about later immigration. Around 1901 Australia adopted an Immigration Restriction Act that required all non-Europeans to pass a dictation test to immigrate to Australia. Apparently the officials would dictate about 50 words in a European language they were pretty sure the applicant wouldn’t understand, and anyone who couldn’t write them correctly was denied entry. Eventually they repealed the dictation test but tried to encourage a white society with a Bring Out a Briton campaign in the 1950s. The next two photos are a political cartoon showing Father Christmas being denied entry because he couldn’t pass the dictation test and a poster for the Bring Out a Briton campaign.

Tuesday, January 31, was our first full day with our tour group. We took a bus tour of the city with stops at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Fitzroy Gardens, and the Shrine of Remembrance, which was built to commemorate the ANZ (Australia and New Zealand) Forces who fought during the Battle of Gallipoli during World War I but has since come to include all wars. The most interesting thing in the Fitzroy Gardens was Captain Cook’s birthplace. Yes, he was born in Great Britain, but his house was purchased and transported to Melbourne brick by brick. Then we had a free afternoon and spent it at the National Gallery of Victoria. The next two photos show Captain Cook’s birthplace and the city skyline taken during our bus tour.

On Wednesday we took an excursion to the Yarra Valley, where we started with a ride through the forest on a train called “Puffing Billy” and ended with wine tastings at two different vineyards. While on the road, we saw our first kangaroo, which ran in front of the bus and disappeared among the grape vines. Unfortunately, the only photo I got is very fuzzy.

From Melbourne, we flew to the outback, but I’ll write about that next week.

Our final days in Australia were spent in Sydney and started with an early wake-up call so that we could beat the other tour companies to a popular viewing spot for the Sydney Opera House and the Sydney Harbour Bridge. We were successful and were just finishing up when the other groups began arriving. After that, we continued our bus tour of Sydney, which included the famous Bondi Beach. Then in the afternoon Roland and I took a tour of the Sydney Opera House. The photo at the top of this post (taken by our tour director) shows Roland and me with the opera house and the bridge in the background. The ones below are Bondi beach and another view of the Sydney Opera House.

We spent the next morning at the Taronga Zoo. We had been told that we weren’t likely to see many Australian animals in the wild (and that proved true), so we took what we could get by going to the zoo. The photos show a koala, a wallaby, a male red kangaroo (notice the muscles on him), and an Australian rooster strutting his stuff.

On the boat to and from the zoo, I took pictures of Fort Denison, which was once used as a mini Alcatraz, and of people walking on the very top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Apparently the bridge climb is a popular activity, and several people on our tour did it. Maybe they’re even in the photo.

With a free afternoon, we had hoped to visit St. Mary’s Cathedral and then walk along a street filled with impressive government buildings and through the botanical gardens on our way back to the hotel. Unfortunately, our plans were interrupted by a violent thunderstorm and we had to take the train back before we even made it to the cathedral. Paying for public transportation in Sydney is interesting, though. You pay by using your credit card at a post on the platform, and it appears to be an honor system as you don’t get a ticket and nobody checks.

Roland ordered kangaroo for dinner on our last night in Sydney, and Kathryn tried his. It tasted okay and was more tender than beef. Don’t worry that we were eating an endangered species, however. In spite of our experience spotting (or not spotting) them, kangaroos are as common in Australia as deer are in the U.S.

Next week I’ll cover the middle of the Australian leg of the trip when we saw the outback and the Great Barrier Reef.

I Love Adult Books, Too

 

Last week I talked about my love for children’s books, but I enjoy adult books, too. Some genres, anyway.

My first foray into adult books came in junior high or high school when I raided Mama’s store of novels from her college days. They included The Mill on the Floss and Silas Marner by George Eliot, both of which I loved, one or two novels by Charles Dickens, and some Shakespeare. I still enjoy much of the work by those three authors, although I can’t seem to get through George Eliot’s Ramola.

High school also found me hooked on what are now classic mysteries. I had a subscription to the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, where I was introduced to Rex Stout, Ellery Queen, and others. I especially enjoyed Agatha Christie, and over the years I collected and read every one of her books. Like anyone with a long career, some of her mysteries are better than others. A few even make me cringe when I reread them these days, and I wonder if she was pressed for ideas after writing so many others. Still, she remains my favorite mystery author, and my very favorite among them is her first one, Murder at the Vicarage. You can read more about my love affair with Agatha Christie in my February 22, 2016 post. 

I’m not sure when I discovered Jane Austin, but I’ve read each of her books as well. I even have an idea for finishing one of her unfinished novels, although I’ll probably never get to it.

Elizabeth Cadell is a more recent discovery. Light-hearted and often humorous, her books range from family stories to romances to mysteries. Staying on the lighter side, I also enjoy the Miss Read books, which explore life in small-town England. Both authors had their heyday in the latter half of the 20^th century.

I do also like some contemporary authors. My favorite books include The Chilbury Ladies Choir and other books by Jennifer Ryan and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shafter. They are historicals that take place during or shortly after World War II.

So as you can see, my favorite adult genres are classic mysteries and historical novels, although I also enjoy lighter reading.

But whatever genres you enjoy, you’ll never regret reading a good book.

I Love Children's Books

 

I just finished reading The Star that Always Stays by Anna Rose Johnson, and I thought, “This may be one of my new favorite books.” Not THE favorite, but near the top.

I love reading children’s books, and especially middle-grade fiction. The Star that Always Stays is about a girl living in Michigan in the early 1900s. Most of it takes place among people who don’t share her Ojibwe heritage, and she doubts herself for several reasons. I won’t tell you any more in case you want to read the book.

It isn’t my top favorite of the recently published books for children, however. That distinction goes to The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley, which tells the story of a British girl who evacuates to the countryside during World War II. The sequel, The War I Finally Won, is almost as good. Again, I won’t give you any details in case you want to read them.

Then there are all the books that I grew up with or read to my own children. When asked, I usually say that my favorite is Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maude Montgomery, but I'm not sure that’s true. That list is probably topped by The Borrowers by Mary Norton. I love the creativity involved in finding a different use for ordinary objects.

The list of my favorite children’s books would be incomplete without Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series, C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series, Louisa May Alcott’s books, and the more recent historicals by Sandra Dallas.

I can’t finish without mentioning some books for younger children. The Amelia Bedelia books make me laugh as she takes everything literally, and The Boxcar Children series starts with the same creativity I enjoy in The Borrowers.

Actually, this list barely scratches the surface, but it makes the point.

I love reading children’s books.

Research Before the Internet

 

The other day Roland was looking for a particular flight’s on-time takeoff record, and he found the information. Then he said, “What did we do before the Internet?”

We wouldn’t have bothered trying to discover flight history. It would have been too much work for not enough benefit. But it made me think about doing research in “the old days.”

I try to do most of my background research before I start the first draft. That hasn’t changed over the years. What has changed is where I get that research from. I used to spend days in the library and hope that the best information could either be photocopied or checked out. If it couldn’t, I took notes on 4x6 notecards. Sometimes I would discover a book I wanted to buy, but I couldn’t always afford it. Now I search the Internet, looking mainly for PDFs to download or books I can buy from Amazon since I have more money than I did back in the early days. The main reason I buy a book rather than get it at the library, though, is because I like to mark up my research materials and keep them for subsequent review. Libraries don’t appreciate it when you do that.

My subsequent research process has changed significantly. I used to write the entire first draft while making notes about the additional information I needed to look up, then go to the library to find it. Now I interrupt my first draft to look up information on the Internet before continuing on.

The Internet didn’t change the importance of research, but it did make it easier.

I can live without the Internet.

But I’d rather not.

Shipwrecked?

 

I was recently reminded of the contrast in philosophy between two poems: “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley and “Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me” by Edward Hopper.

“Invictus” reads as follows:

Out of the night that covers me,

     Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

     For my unconquerable soul.

 

In the fell clutch of circumstance

     I have not winced nor cried aloud,

Under the bludgeonings of chance

     My head is bloody, but unbowed.

 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

     Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

     Finds and shall find me unafraid.

 

It matters not how strait the gate,

     How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

     I am the captain of my soul.

 

How depressing.

I’ve read comments that see the poem as celebrating perseverance and determination. To me it signifies the opposite—I see a person who would rather be shipwrecked than give up the illusory control he mistakenly thinks he has over his life.

Contrast “Invictus” with “Jesus Savior, Pilot Me.”

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

Over life’s tempestuous sea;

Unknown waves before me roll,

Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;

Chart and compass came from Thee:

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

 

As a mother stills her child,

Thou canst hush the ocean wild;

Boisterous waves obey Thy will

When Thou say’st to them “Be still!”

Wondrous Sov’reign of the sea,

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

 

When at last I near the shore,

And the fearful breakers roar

‘Twixt me and the peaceful rest,

Then, while leaning on Thy breast,

May I hear Thee say to me,

“Fear not, I will pilot thee.”

 

None of us can be master of our fate or captain of our soul. That’s why I have a pilot.

Big ships always use a pilot when navigating into or out of harbors and other busy or dangerous areas. Depending on the circumstances, smaller ships may use a pilot, too. That’s because there are many factors that affect a safe passage, including weather, currents, boat traffic, and hidden hazards. Even the best captains can’t know the particularities of every place they sail. And they aren’t expected to. It’s the pilot’s job to know a particular spot and guide the ship through it.

The best captains know when to accept help. Those who try to do it on their own are heading for a shipwreck. Obviously, it won’t happen every time, but once is enough. That’s why the best captains are willing to give up control.

Henley expects to experience the shipwreck of Hell.

I know I won’t.

__________

The image at the top of this post is “Shipwreck,” an 1857 painting by Dutch artist Henri Adolphe Schaep. It is in the public domain because of its age.

A Puzzling Situation

 I like doing jigsaw puzzles, so several years ago Roland got me a puzzle table for Christmas. This year I received three puzzles—one from Caroline and Pete, and two from Roland.

Caroline and Pete had seen the Ghent Altarpiece while in Brussels on vacation this past summer, so they gave me a jigsaw puzzle of the interior panels. At 8 X 10 inches with 110 pieces, it was smaller than most of the ones I do but still challenging enough to keep my interest. It also fit on my puzzle table and left plenty of room to lay out pieces around it.

When Roland bought the puzzle table, he figured that would make for easy gifts in subsequent years, when he could buy me the puzzles to go on it. But this year he discovered that he still needs to pay attention to the puzzles he buys. In particular, he bought me two 1000 piece puzzles that are 24 X 30 inches. Unfortunately, the puzzle surface on the table is more like 22 X 31. Wide enough, but not deep enough.

We considered laying a board or some other rigid surface over the puzzle table, but we didn’t have anything that would work. Buying a piece of plywood from Home Depot or Lowes was an option, but we would rather work with what we already have.

The only other choice was to use the dining room table, but that wouldn’t leave us enough room to spread out comfortably during meals. Then I remembered the leaf. Adding it to the table gave us just enough room. Problem solved.

It just takes a little ingenuity to resolve a puzzling situation.

Party Girl

 

I’m not much of a party girl, and I’ve had few birthday parties in my life. The first one I remember is my 15^th birthday, when I invited several friends to a hot dog roast at our cabin just a mile or two from our house in DeTour. (That’s me second from the left.) I’m not sure why I chose to have it there since the cabin was still under construction and had no heat, and January can be quite cold in the Upper Peninsula. I also don’t know why April McGuire was wearing curlers, but at least it shows that she was comfortable around us. And I do remember having a good time.

Fast-forward 57 years. I share a birthday with Martin Luther King, Jr., and yesterday was both of our real birthdays (not the one set for MLK by the government). But while everybody is celebrating his birthday today, I celebrated mine yesterday with a surprise party.

When I woke up in the morning, I found a card from Roland with a note that we had luncheon reservations at noon. That was strange, because he usually takes me to dinner at Café Borgia, which doesn’t take reservations. As we drove, he said that one of the nice things about his election season job is that he discovers new places to eat. But then he pulled into the parking lot at Teibels Restaurant, which is a familiar place even though we hadn’t been there for a while.

We walked inside and I saw a friend from church and her husband and thought, “Oh, they came here for lunch, too.” Then I noticed some other friends around the table at about the same time one of them said, “surprise.” Roland had invited my three best friends from church and their husbands, and it really was a surprise.

Unfortunately, we had already left before I realized that I should have had the waitress take a group photo on my cell phone. That’s why I’m using one from my 15^th birthday.

I had a lovely time, and I have a lovely husband, too.

And he’s the best present of all.