Blue Mountains to Footscray - Oct. 15 


Hello again!  We're currently in Kathmandu after going through Tibet and visiting Everest Base Camp.  Our plans for volunteering here fell through only a week before we got here (grrrr....) but we're here safe and sound.  We'll try to use local sources to find .volunteer work and get some trekking and rafting in as well.  We're on a waiting list for our planned African trip, so our final 2 months have yet to come together.  Maybe we'll even get more of this published....

Saturday. –  Oct. 15  Hiking the Upper Rim -Blue Mountains, Day 2

We had breakfast with another group of German travellers and the big debate was whether the weather would waver. We checked out the rock formation close to town, the visibility extended to the “Three Sisters”, but beyond them all was lost in pea soup fog. We decided to chance it on an easy trail at Leura Falls that we could abandon quickly if there was nothing to see. We hiked down a well-blazed trail for about 10 minutes to get to the falls, which were just visible through the mist but quite audible. The view was pleasant, with two areas where the stream fell and then it descended into the valley below, which was still shrouded in mist. We hiked along the upper rim of the valley and the mist started lifting as we continued. Soon we could see across the valley to the cliffs beyond and it finally all made sense. The view was really something and it was interesting to gradually see what we were hiking through. The trail went through some rocky overhangs. It was again well laid out and we were appreciative of the solid guard rails keeping us from falling a fair distance to the bottom.

Waiting for the mist to lift over the valley.

We then got on the highway to Canberra and Meg napped. We had forgotten to program Sean (the GPS) to avoid toll roads, so we got sucked onto one for a short period of time. It said that you could pay your toll online (not! ha, ha) and I took note of the website. Of course, the website took about 10 minutes extracting information before advising you that it had a permanent server error. After trying three times, I figured that this was a permanent thing and my 48 hours were over. The rental company had a nasty surcharge for incurred tolls and fines, but the e-mails I sent just got me generic replies. Lesson: never take a toll road in a strange country and never allow your politicians to privatize roads, as these companies have no customer service.

Craving Culture in Canberra

We made it to the very new YHA Hostel in downtown Canberra (population 339,500). I had to park a few blocks away but the place looked worth it. Meg was still tired so I took a stroll through the neighbourhood. Most places were closed but I was able to check out the Canberra Museum. It had a famous series of Ned Kelly (the romanticised robber who wore a bucket on his head) pictures which were simple enough to had been illustrations in a children's book. There were a few modern pieces, including some nice patterns on the floor made by placing coloured pens in rows. They also had someone's motorcycle collection, and the early ones looked solid but scary to ride. The rest of the downtown was set up as an octagon but nothing much was going on except a half-hearted protester shouting to a small crowd.

We had dinner downstairs in the large, modern kitchen with a surprisingly small kitchen space for a building meant for two hundred people. They had plenty of most things but had only about 4 glasses. Dinner was easily prepared and we augmented it with a selection of the gourmet extras we got from the Hunter Valley. We worked on some planning in the evening and Meg reported when she went outside that the locals were swarming and the kitchen and patio were full of clusters of beer-drinking drongos. We watched RockWiz on the TV in our room (a great music trivia show with a very flippant and quick-thinking host) and then tried to sleep. This was difficult, as in spite of Canberra's reputation of being boring we heard the local yobbos driving by and yelling incoherently over loud Bon Jovi music. Our hostel-mates responded by gathering out front, under our window, to sing loud, tuneless songs and drunkenly challenge each other to fights. They did not endear themselves to us and a good sleep was not had that evening.

Sunday. – Rooting for Rotoruan Rugby

We grumpily got up and had some breakfast. We then headed out to the Australia Museum, a short drive away on the fake lake Canberra was built around. It was a wildly modern building with irregular shapes, colourful poles and a huge courtyard full of bent maps in the centre for kids to run around in. Admission was free (Australians and New Zealanders are very progressive that way) except for a Chinese exhibit which we didn't need to (or were too cheap) see. We first headed to the Aboriginal Exhibit, Canberra being the home of the Ngunnawal Aboriginals, which was quite large and varied. There were lots of videos and music examples as well as a room full of people telling their stories (on video). One exhibit focussed on the Aboriginal struggle for gaining rights with displays on several of the slaughters that were carried out against them. Other areas covered the challenges of settling different parts of the country, the convict history and lastly the history of animal species being wiped out by hunting, or by invasive species (like rats and rabbits) taking over the whole country. On this last point, this was, our first exposure to the mystery of the Thylacine, better known as the “Tasmanian Tiger”, a stripy dog-like marsupial, which was exterminated by humans in the middle of the last century (not to be confused with the Tasmanian Devil, which is threatened but still exists). The museum had an example of bad taxidermy with a moth-eaten, one-eyed, mangy Tiger on display dating from the 1900s. (We become fascinated with the story of the “Tiger” even before we went to Tasmania).

After the museum and a pot of tea, Meg was spent, so we went back so she could nap. I was intending to visit the modern art museum but traffic was strangely congested for a Sunday afternoon. When the police closed off the unmoving ramp I was trying to merge onto, I gave up and went to look at a museum on our side of the fake lake. Someone said the film archives were open to the public including a screening room showing a sentimental history of Canberra and one large room set up with viewing booths. The booths were more interesting but mainly focused on great Australian moments in TV and film. The viewing was generous and you could have spent hours there if that was your thing.

I drove back and the traffic was still locked up so I parked the car and stayed locally. The Rugby World Cup semi-final was due to play that day so I scouted a likely pub to watch it. Sadly, I didn't find out until after I ordered my beer that they were only showing a rugby league rules game between the same two countries. (There are about 5 different rugby variations played here). Not wanting to waste a beer, I watched the first half of the game which combined rugby with a system of 5 downs but never stopping the continual play. It was entertaining enough but not what I was looking for, so I went back to the room to type until the real game started.

Meg and I had a quick dinner and went out to see the real game. The pub I was in that afternoon was now packed, but I had seen others close by. The largest one was closed on Sundays (yes, the whole day!) and the small one with good beer didn't have a television. Defeated, we went back to the hostel only to find that the staff were wrong, we didn't need a cable TV to watch it (hurray!). We tuned into the game our TV common room and were joined by two older gentleman and one of their wives. We were worried that our support for the Kiwis might ruffle a few feathers so we carefully inquired who they were supporting. It turned out that our couch-sharers were all from New Zealand, so we were cheering for the same side! The All-Blacks won easily, and really, they deserved to. In New Zealand, everyone was talking about the Rugby World Cup;. Whereas the Australians were talking about their local leagues and weren't that interested in the Cup (or they were feigning disinterest because they lost- but I'm half Australian so I can say that).

Monday – Family Secrets (the Cousin we don't talk about...)

We dashed to eat and pack the car before our parking would expire. Our last stop would be the new parliament building which we headed towards until poor signage detoured us onto a side road. We could see the “hill” clearly and figured we could walk there. We asked instructions from an Australian-Indian civil servant, who gave us a rather (what we later discovered to be common in South-East Asia) traditional response, not knowing the answer, but still wanting to be helpful – he directed us to cross an impassible 6 lane ring highway to get there. After several near death experiences, we managed to return to our car and somehow manouvered our way to the underground parking safely. We just missed the 9 am tour and so hung around and looked at the rooms and artwork. They have a copy of the Magna Carta (for some reason) as well as an Inuit sculpture donated at the time of the building's completion. We saw that Midnight Oil's lead singer, Peter Garrett, is now a cabinet minister for Labour and Meg got all sorts of information about James Scullin, the Labour Leader whom she was related to. (He was grandmother's cousin, and he was only PM for a couple of years. He was vilified over his harsh response to a strike. But another relative, great-uncle Jack was one of the founders of the Australian Communist Party and a giant in the labour movement). While Meg shopped (they had tea towels of all the Prime Ministers!) I went up top where they had lawns (environ-friendly architecture) and a nice view of this very geometric city.

When the 45 minute-tour started our group was fairly large but the woman leading it was a real pro and handled the group deftly. We learned that both the senate and parliament had viewing galleries behind Plexiglas so that school children could visit without disrupting anything. Since voting is mandatory, all school visits are subsidized based on how far they have to travel to Canberra (makes me proud to be half Australian). The seats in these halls were coloured on a gradient to create an illusion of space. Meg asked for James Scullin's portrait to be pointed out and the guide helped, but without a lot of enthusiasm. He was the last one in the new building, the older ones had been moved to the old parliament hall as space required (sadly by the time my niece and nephew get to Australia his portrait will be removed).

We left on that high note, but no fond farewell to Canberra, a pretty soulless place (like most capital cities, to be fair). We drove towards Wangaratta, chosen mainly for its being a halfway point on the way to Melbourne. An hour and a half out of the city we stopped for lunch and found that we had left our cooler (or Eski as they call them down here) in the freezer at Canberra, both of us assuming that the other had brought it. It was full of our pasta sauce and gourmet delights and was a huge loss, but not enough to retrace our steps for.

Meg with the portrait of her unspeakable relative in the unspeakable city of  Canberra.

Being without provisions, we pulled over for lunch at the next food place named after the dog on the tackle box song, a weird song whose lyrics held little charm for me (the dog apparently lays on the tackle box to stop other animals getting in- or maybe he widdles on it, something like that.)

Chatting with TAZ in Charmless Chiltern/Wacky Wangaratta

Just before we got to Wangaratta we stopped off in Chiltern. Our guide book mentioned it as being an authentic mining town that was used as a setting for several films. We pulled in and saw a sleepy, dusty place where most businesses had closed by 4pm. We walked around the main strip and saw “closed” and “for sale” signs as well as a few shops that were open but customer-free. We tried to order a coffee, but the cafe was closing so sent us to the saloon. It was open but also devoid of customers. While they put a pot on to brew, we talked to the lone man in the place, an old codger named Taz (so-named as he was from Tasmania) and he could recall some obscure film a long time ago that was shot in town and lamented its current stagnant state. He made a point of telling us that his ancestors came to Tasmania as the widow of a soldier, differentiating himself from the country's criminal heritage. He had done a lot of travelling around Australia, and was really interesting to talk to, but we had to get going. When we paid for the coffees a local was talking to the woman behind the counter and Meg gave suggestions they could use to rejuvenate the town (historical tours). She listened politely and we got on our way.

Wangaratta was big and thriving after Chiltern but we had to circle a block a few times as our GPS was unable to navigate us right to our motel. The Miller's Cottage was a budget place that at first reminded us an old 1950s style motel. The manager who eventually opened the squeaky screen door was friendly, and talked to us at length of what to do in town and in the south of Victoria state. .

We headed to dinner to find that the the two places the manager recommended weren't open so we took a gamble on Cafe Martini, a large restaurant with several customers and a good-looking menu. They served local wines we hadn't heard of, but a random choice of Brown Brothers was really tasty paired with a antipasto plate. I made the mistake of ordering risotto, which turned out to be rice stew. When we asked if the rice was meant to be mushy, our server said of course (okay, we are food snobs, but who wants to pay risotto prices for microwaved mush?). As we left, we saw the kitchen staff were all under 18, which would have impacted our food choices had we known.

Wangaratta was pretty much asleep now, (9:30pm) so we headed back to our room and before long joined them.

Tuesday – Ned Kelly- Doggie Biscuits- and Golliwogs

We made a quick breakfast in our room and then moved on. The closest tourist town was Beechworth, which was supposed to have a Ned Kelly tour (a perfect way of rejuvenating the town and attracting tourists) to satisfy our curiosity as to why the old bandit has captured the imagination of Australia. By the time we got there the early tour had left and the next Ned Kelly tour wasn't for several hours, which we didn't have. We looked at the old historic buildings ourselves, which didn't take long. Amazingly, their telegraph office was still active! It was apparently the busiest in the world and would send telegrams wherever you wanted. They also had the old Chinese office, to deal with the immigrants who were simultaneously needed and resented during the gold rush.

Offensive or cute?  You decide.

We walked through the rest of the town, which was the opposite to Chiltern. The old buildings were well-preserved but were thriving, with tour buses parked everywhere and lots of people wandering the streets. We hit the Salvo (Australian for Salvation Army Store) and got some books and things we didn't really need. We then strolled around town and found a large window display stuffed with Golliwogs in various outfits (what other racist goodies are they selling children? Licorice “Little Black Sambos”?) At another store Meg picked up some treats for the dog we would be staying with in Melbourne. They had tons of toys and food marked “not human grade”. The dog treats at the counter looked like gourmet chocolates and the owner told of high school students who were buying them to feed to friends as a joke, apparently the friends found them tasty. Meg chose a weird-looking toy that Jack Russels were supposed to love.

Time was a wasting, so we drove down some pretty country roads towards the so-called gourmet region. On the way there we stopped in at an olive grove, and got an interesting “Olives 101” lecture from a guy dressed like he had been working on trees all morning. We heard about the regulations around extra-virgin old and heard that uniformly coloured olives are bleached or chemically coloured in some way which causes them to become soft. We tasted some nice olives and dips and bought jars of yummy spiced olives to replenish our food supply.

We then hit the main town in the area and stopped for lunch at the Milawa Cheese shop which seemed to be at the centre of the action. We had a rather leisurely lunch and tasted some excellent cheese, going back to buy some for later. The place was a mecca for tour buses, one whose minimum age had to be 85 as it took most of our meal for the bus occupants to make their way up to the balcony (when we are 85 let's hope we get to go on wine tours too!).

Next we stopped at Brown Brothers winery, that of the tasty wine but crappy risotto, meal. They had an elegant tasting area with a rolling wooden wall between parts of the bar to accommodate a private group. As in Hunter Valley, they poured generously, and I had to turn down many offered wines if I were going to drive. We bought two delicious bottles and had a nice chat with a couple who came from Christchurch (mainly about the earthquake and NZ cheese).

Family, Fun, and Food in Footscray

It was time to head out so we drove towards Melbourne. There is something about the city that messes up Sean (and probably most GPS systems), so we took longer getting there as the satellite kept cutting out just as we had to decide on exits. Eventually, we made it to Peter and Brian's home in Footscray (10 minutes from the downtown but 45 minutes the way Sean directs us). Despite arriving later than we had anticipated, we were made welcome, had a great chat and Lucy immediately attacked her toy and had disabled the squeaking function within minutes. We were tired and felt immediately welcome as we unwound and got to meet Peter (Meg's second cousin). We then went out to one of their favourite haunts, a proper Italian restaurant which was small and with everything cooked by Mama. The food and atmosphere were wonderful and Meg was doing her usual bill-wrestling with Peter but both were thwarted by Brian who informed us that he had paid for it all on his last trip to the washroom.