It's later than you think!

There was a moment yesterday when a small voice from downstairs said a very expressive word and Faith came running up to announce that our flight to Alice Springs was one day earlier than we'd remembered. The result is that we're here in the Red Centre now instead of .. well, tomorrow. If you want to know more about Alice Springs you'll need to do a search because I'm typing against the clock in a public internet booth with a queue developing behind me. First impressions:
red desert; frontier feel; similarities with Khaosan Road, aboriginal people - on the streets and in the surrounding countryside.
More later, if possible, and I've still got to tell everyone about the TRUE centre of Australia ... Forbes.

Moving seaward silently, at a snail's pace

I really need to begin this post with a piece of news from the Sydney Weekend Telegraph. It's about a week old, but you might be interested.

"Three strange shapes (pictured here), viewed at Shelly Beach, Manly last weekend, have still to be positively identified. Seemingly human-like, they shocked local residents who were out enjoying the unseasonal winter sunshine.

"At first glance," said Tommo 'Schooner' Riley, veteran sticky-beak, " they looked just like you and me, but when you got closer, Jeez."

This reporter pressed Mister Riley for more information - What were they, mate - mermaids, dragons, ghosts?
"Nothing at all like that, blue," insisted Mr Riley, adding that they seemed to be a queer sort of
mongrel he'd never seen before, not even on TV!
"Not true blue at all," he said.
Despite the growing crowd, nobody who was present is able to agree on a clear description of the creepy creatures, though all agreed that each one was different from the others even though they all moved together.
"Marvellous to look at," said Mrs Kazza Bungle, a Cabbage Tree Bay sunnie entrepreneur.
Asked to describe just one of them, Mrs Bungle's reply was a chilling,
'It's beyond me, darling.'
Others, though, were more forthcoming. Ibrahim Boticelli, proprietor of the nearby Bella Kebab Hot Ice Cream restaurant said,
"It was a Saturday, so there were a lot of people around to see the things. It was warm, too, for July, and business was slow because nobody wants to buy our tasty gelato and red onion pitta-pockets when the sun shines. I remember that the three things moved down the beach slowly - all together, though - and went into the sea, you know, carefully."
When quizzed as to whetheri anybody tried to talk with them, or if the creatures talked among themselves, Mr Boticelli became definite.
No, he said, they didn't talk, but the noises they made were not disturbing, more like muffled squeals, particularly as they moved towards the deeper water."

What do you think?

I'm interested because Faith, George and I went snorkelling in Manly the same weekend and we didn't see anything strange. Maryam stayed on the beach, too, but even she missed the spectacle! Faith's had a lifelong fear of putting her face underwater, so it was a real surprise to turn around and see her paddling about with us. She'd been so thrilled to see fishes swimming about at her feet that she braved all and found that snorkelling is not at all like trying to keep on your feet and in your depth. Now, there's no holding her back. We've had to go on a trip to the Sydney Aquarium to identify what we saw - mostly Gropers, Leatherjackets and Toadfish - and she can't wait to go back to Shelly Beach at least once more before we leave Sydney for the much less marine Alice Springs (though I did suggest that she could try snorkelling in the Todd River).

Our next adventure is an excursion to Parkes to see THE DISH. George has gone on ahead to do his stint searching the sky for pulsars, but he reports that there are lots of dead kangaroos along the road. This is a worry because I've just read the following report on the MSN (Au) website:

SYDNEY, Australia - Forget cute, cuddly marsupials. Paleontologists say they have found the remains of a fanged killer kangaroo and what they describe as a "demon duck of doom."
Professor Michael Archer said Wednesday that the remains of a meat-eating kangaroo with wolflike fangs were found, as well as a galloping kangaroo with long forearms that could not hop like a modern kangaroo.
"Because they didn't hop, these were galloping kangaroos, with big, powerful forelimbs. Some of them had long canines (fangs) like wolves," Archer told Australian Broadcasting Corp. radio.The species found had "well muscled-in teeth, not for grazing. These things had slicing crests that could have crunched through bone and sliced off flesh," Hand said.

The team also found large ducklike birds.

"Very big birds ... more like ducks, earned the name 'demon duck of doom', some at least may have been carnivorous as well," Hand told ABC radio.

Let's hope that the demon ducks and the killer kangaroos fight it out among themselves and leave us timid travellers to slip across the Woop Woop unnoticed.

Finally, the Mexicans have arrived in town, by way of this splendid tall ship here, called Cuautemoc. By chance, we were there to see them tie up and make fast, which they did to rousing Latin American music. Maryam shyly waved at one of the matelots, who was reefing a capstan or splicing a yarn or some such task, and got a flashing smile in return. Since then we've seen groups of the crew wandering about in the city in immaculate nautical uniform and Faith and Maryam have needed to be physically restrained on a number of occasions.

The Long Way Round

The day before yesterday it took Faith and me four hours to walk to the nearest railway station (in Epping!), a trip that usually takes about half an hour. The reason? We didn't follow the customary route along the road, but took the path through part of the Lane Cove National Park that starts just down the road. It's just one of the fingers of bush that run through the suburbs and extend deep into the city, and it follows the course of a creek - called Terry's Creek, or Devlin's Creek depending on which bit of it you're walking along. To find the path, we went to the end of Vimiera Road (which looks just like it sounds) and passed under the M2 motorway through a grey-painted culvert; there on the other side we were among gum trees and smooth, weather-worn sandstone outcrops. Although we could hear the rumble of the motorway behind us, the most noticeable sounds were the creek below and the squawking cockatoos. A little way in I left the main track to climb onto a boulder for a better view of what was ahead and there, just down the hill, was an echidna! It trundled out from under the low vegetation, crossed the path and waddled off into the rocks and fallen wood on the other side! That sealed our fate, and for the rest of the way, we stopped so often to look around that a man who passed us on his way into Epping passed us on his way back an hour or so later, and we'd covered about 1 km of the 4 km route. We didn't see any more echidnas, but it was obvious that the birds have decided Spring is on the way. Galahs, cockatoos and rainbow lorikeets were paired up and hacking nestholes in the gum trees. Near the end of the track we emerged, unexpectedly, onto a street.
"Can we get to Epping Station from here?" we asked a couple of burly builders who were lightheartedly hurling huge chunks of concrete into a skip.
They looked at each other for a second.
"Yeah, your best bet is to take the track again, mate."
"Thankyou," we said.
"No worries," they answered together, "Whooah but look out, it gets thin!"
We hurried back into the bush to find the thin path.
From Epping we caught the train to the nearest ferry pier (Meadowbank) and so into Circular Quay along the same Parramatta River route that we took with George and Maryam on our first day here. We passed by the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House in a glorious sunset. Cameras were clicking all around, people in shirt-sleeves were eating ice creams and burgers, ibises flew overhead, startlingly white in a blue, blue sky ... and they call this winter! The free local paper this week has an article about how to beat the winter blues, "Sniffles, weight gain, lethargy and depression can all get us down at this time of year," it says, and goes on to encourage readers to start the day with hot porridge, and to eat lots of casseroles. What's more, I've just discovered that the coldest sea temperatures around Sydney match the warmest sea temperatures available in the UK. This is comforting because George and I plan to go snorkelling on Saturday.
So, after the walk around the outside of the Opera House, on through the Botanic Gardens to meet George and Maryam at the Art Gallery. Here we saw a marvellous collection of Japanese art and calligraphy, some grand nineteenth century Australian landscape paintings - just a few of which were painted by artists more used to depicting Dawn in the Dales or Stormy Weather on the Ouse, and who were obviously daunted by trying to capture scenes such as One Cow in 300 square miles of Emptiness and Natives in a Rock Shelter a Very Long Way Off Because I'm a Bit Nervous of Those Sharp Sticks They're Carrying.

The evening ended with the very bizarre experience of eating a Uighur meal in a restaurant in Chinatown. This little adventure whisked us away from Sydney along the Silk Road to the yurts and untamed horsemen of North West China. We drank pots and pots of tea (kok cay) because the restaurant serves no alcohol (being Muslim) and consumed awesome helpings of dishes such as hoxang (dumplings filled savoury meat), uighur polo (rice with lamb), kavab ( grilled lamb on skewers) and nan (onion bread).
Sadly, neither Faith nor Maryam would agree to to entertain us with wild and provocative Uyghurian dancing (see picture) of the kind that George assures us he experienced on trip to China's north west fontier.

Never mind, we're going to a karaoke club with Xiaopeng (one of George's students) next week.

Around the traps in Sydney.

Odd contradictions abound here, and just as you think you're getting on top of things, something happens that throws out your perspective again. let me give you a few examples.

Imagine a cute, sandy bay, lined with gum trees, palms and very plush houses. The sun is bright, people are on the rocks having picnics, children are paddling in the gentle waves. It's just a mite too cold to swim, but , gosh, you really want to. There's a very prominent sign on the beach that says the waters are polluted after heavy rain and you should wait for 24 hours before bathing; there hasn't been heavy rain for ages, though, and the water is crystal clear. You think, just a quick dip, it would be chilly, but fun. Then you see, out of the corner of your eye, the net that's enclosing a portion of the beach. No-one seems to be paying much attention to it. "What's the net?" you ask. "It keeps the sharks out." WHAT? THERE ARE SHARKS? Nowhere is there a sign saying, "There may be a little pollution sometimes but, hey, never mind, you could get eaten!"

It's winter here (equivalent to January in UK), but the weather is mild, and the skies often bright blue, and there are swallows. However, it gets dark by 5:00 pm and people shuffle about on their way home from work in the dusk wearing scarves and woolly hats while multi-coloured parrots fly around and the greenery is alive with chirping frogs and tropical vegetation. Yet, the posties all stride around wearing VERY short shorts. Is it to ensure that they move briskly and deliver the mail with sufficient Australian vim and vigour?

The Ranch is a very popular restaurant near where we're staying. It gets full and you have to be prepared to wait for a table. Can you book? NO! The Ranch is an aircraft hangar or the biggest school canteen you've ever seen. tables of huge surface area are laid out in awesome banks, with fixed benches alongside. The way it works is this: stake a claim on a table (or a portion of a table if you have to); leave a scent marker or some other token of your occupation; join the queue of people laughing and joking as they shuffle past the food displays and order your meal (note, order your food, not collect it); collect a number on a stick and return to your table (if you can find your way back through the crowded hall); now go to the bar and buy your drinks, you can carry these back through the melee yourself, slopping foam and bestowing blessings of wine upon your fellow diners as you go; wait for your food to arrive (by which time you've finished your drinks and have to scrum your way back to the bar again). But here's the ting; it's really enjoyable. There are all sorts here - families, people on their way home from work, gangs in cocktail dresses and smart evening wear because they're eating here before going clubbing - and the whole thing sound likes a penguin colony. Fair dinkum, though, it's bonzer tucker, my steak was the ridgy-didge!

Finally, being in the suburbs, things look a lot like home. Three-lane traffic in both directions, driving on the correct (ie British) side of the road, regular buses, people looking glum and carrying plastic bags of shopping home, kids on school holiday jumping all over everything. And then, "What's that thing lying in the roadside ahead, is it some poor cat that's been run over?"
NO, it's a bloody huge fruit bat that's the size of a hang-gliding bedlington terrier. And they're not just road-kill either, they're in the trees - heavy, leathery, chirping bundles of bat, like little pterodactyls, waiting for dusk so that they can fly off and feast on someone's peach trees.

It's going to take a while to acclimatise!

Being and introduction to Sydney

Our first three days in Australia ....

Day1: Arrived at 0610. Lady Bay is where the nudists go, although when we walked past on a day of cold wind and drizzle, there were only two nudists to be seen, and both were demonstrably male.

Day 2: Manly Bay is where EVERYONE goes and, the weather being warm and mild, it was full of energetic, radiant, golden-skinned Sydneyans. They bowled aong the walkways, bounced into and out of ice-cream parlours and fish and chip shops, jogged along the beach, were talkative and social, ate enormous picnics and surfed the Pacific waves confidently.

Day 3: Undercliff-Overcliff is what the hardy types (but again, that's everyone) do on a Sunday in the Blue Mountains where they brave airy heights and dizzying depths, wearing training shoes and skimpy vests in the winter weather, to view waterfalls and eat Lilly-Pilly flavoured ice-cream.