In Sydney, Australia, this local appears unfazed by - to use the official terminology - ‘catastrophic’ fires surrounding the city …
… I inspect Hallowe’en decorations …
... admire a newsagency's display of signs ...
… and, as we depart, remember I’ve once again failed to get to the city’s fabled Luna Park, a kitschy, harbourside amusement park dating from the 1930s.
… and, as we depart, remember I’ve once again failed to get to the city’s fabled Luna Park, a kitschy, harbourside amusement park dating from the 1930s.
In Melbourne, a good friend, Richard, collects me at the dock. Later, he poses at this cow sculpture near his docklands condo.
Some background:
Richard generously gifts me doubtless expensive footwear for cold Toronto nights. Never did I expect to wear UGGs!
In return I give him a cheap bag.
You have to live in Toronto, or know someone who does, to get the point. A link illustrating our obsession with raccoons:
Now that I think about it, it wasn’t that cheap! And Richard also got a raccoon keychain and cutesy raccoon air freshener for his posh car. And a children’s book about raccoons. Very thoughtful of me and he was suitably appreciative.
Two nights and a day across the Bass Strait to Hobart, Tasmania. First stop is something that caught my eye in pre-trip research, the Canadian Exiles Memorial.
Although transportation of British convicts to Australia is well known, I hadn’t heard of Canadians.
The memorial commemorates ninety-two men transported in 1840 to Tasmania. This followed the 1837 Upper Canada Rebellion, an uprising calling for change in how the colony was governed. Although unsuccessful, ‘Their struggle,’ as the monument states, ‘was a significant factor in the evolution of responsible government in Canada and Australia.’
I suspect few Canadians stop here, so leave a little flag in gratitude.
Nearby another monument with Canadian links. This commemorates Sir John Franklin, who, with two ships, vanished searching for the Northwest Passage. From 1837 to 1843 he was Tasmania’s governor.
On the statue’s base is Tennyson’s inspired (well, he was Tennyson) epitaph for Franklin:
‘Not here! The white north has thy bones; and thou
Heroic sailor soul,
Art passing on thine happier voyage now
Toward no earthly pole.’
Overlooking Hobart, Mount Wellington (1,271 metres or 4,170 feet) is an unexpected reminder of home.
Quite pleasant a couple of hundred metres below, the top is windswept with touch of snow.
On descending, I find disgruntled kangaroos huddling during a brief shower.
But the sun is out when I go sign hunting …
… and, between two houses, come across evidence of a serious Dr. Who fan.
Two days crossing to New Zealand and a reminder of 2001 when I rounded the world on a freighter. At the stern was a jerry-built bench you can see behind the crewmen.
While in the Great Southern Ocean, I would often make tea, head to the bench and watch the albatrosses. They followed us for days. Now, aboard a much different vessel, I am again at the stern and there are the albatrosses.
There’s something quite moving about albatrosses that spend months at sea. Effortless grace is a cliché. But it appears effortless and the grace with which these magnificent birds skim waves, swoop and soar is undeniable. So is their needless death toll from longline fishing gear littering the oceans.
Although often very large with wingspans of over three metres, the sea doesn’t allow for judging size. There’s nothing in the background with which to compare. And a decent picture from rolling ship with point-and-shoot camera isn’t easy. But I was content.
Fly safely on.
Next post, New Zealand’s South Island.
