Friday, 8 May 2015
out on the river
We also went on an amazing boat trip to the mouth of the Murray river; and then stayed overnight in Victor Harbour. I know I missed a day spent in bed with an appalling cold, but I also seem to have lost all my photos. Hope to get back to this.
a little story
The Broken Hill tour and the Terra Nullius book have got me thinking a lot about stories - about the kind of stories that get told about a place, particularly to its tourists and visitors (and in a way, therefore to the inhabitants themselves) something I will be returning to.
So here is my anecdote: that says something about that weird intersection between what feels like an unbelievably ancient land and the way the most recent settlers cruise across its surface. At one moment on the train, as I was watching out of the window idly staring at mile after mile of scrub and orange-brown soil, I saw 3 emus appear from nowhere and cross the long straight road running parallel to the train tracks. This in the middle of an empty plain. And at that precise moment an ute drove past (the first vehicle I had seen for 20 minutes). The first and second emus got by, but the third, thrown into a panic, turned back and was hit a glancing blow, such that it flew up into the air. I saw feathers explode and the emu hit the ground - and then the train had gone by.
And then nothing for ages.
the weirdness of broken hill
As part of the journey, we got to stop at Broken Hill, once a boom town for mining, and now - still a mining town but more normal. Well, I say normal, but the whole sojourn felt quite surreal; and not just because we were woken up before dawn (after not sleeping the previous night due to it being a train and all) and were a little lagging. First, we were driven around almost every street in a bus, up and down the small town grid, being shown absolutely everything - some of it twice. I kid you not, we were even introduced to the Coles supermarket as an exciting event; all given out in full chatty and obvious jokes compere mode. Which was followed by a murmured repeat across the whole bus, due to a larger than usual number of older, hard-of-hearing people who needed to be told all over again by their nearest and dearest.
Then, at some unclear point, we were driven to the waste earth/slag heap piled up by the town, on top of which has been built a miner's memorial, in honour of those who had died. A mixture of poignant and community hall, with volunteers serving scones and tea. But also, since I had been reading a book called Terra Nullius on the train, also echoed strangely of missing - indigenous -voices. Neither the tour nor the memorial plaques contained any reference to aboriginal history or people, a whole world ignored and marginalised.
At the same time, there was another absence - the fact that all the time we were at the memorial, we were walking on top of a working mine, and the tough hard work that continues to involve.
off on the indian-pacific
And
then, most amazing of all, we got on the Indian-Pacific train (a fabulous
birthday treat from E). They went all the way to Perth, K and I as far as Adelaide.
Brilliant, quite old-fashioned (although none of the guests would have been
right in an Agatha Christie novel) and a great, lazy way to see the scenery go
by.
more city bingo 1: ineffectual mail receptacles (3)
E and P
It was so lovely to have E and P in town recently; also a bit of an excuse to be a tourist again, and to eat out lots. We did the Coogee to Bondi coastal walk (well P did - E and I struck off at Bronte and went shopping as is our wont); took the ferry out to a wet and windy Manley (and ate in the unexpectedly amazing Pantry) and of course had lobster and chips at Doyles and the eggnet at one of my all time favourite places, Longrain.
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