3:25am– Packing is going well. I've squished and squeezed all my belongings into 3 suitcases. A kookaburra chuckles in the night from somewhere close by.
3:55am– I am attempting to stay up all night. I'm hoping this will help reset my internal clock in preparation for my 14 hour flight back to the US. The neighbor who often practices his saxophone has begun an unusually late hour rehearsal-- perhaps my so-long serenade? Yeah, right.
4:10am– On my last night in Australia, I'm pondering the questions that are bound to come my way as soon as I return home: What did you like best? What will you miss most? I've been trying to really observe and take in all the details in these final few days.
I love the smell of the gum trees. They line the sidewalk between the apartment and the train station, so I pass them each day and find myself always taking in a deep breath.
I love the sound of the magpies and the myna birds. Magpies, especially, have a light, airy chortle that you can see in their throats as they lift their heads up, singing towards the sky.
I love the fresh produce and seafood. Rocket (arugula) and ginger, especially, are prevalent in many restaurant recipes. I love the bite of the sharp, fragrant flavors. The oysters are fresh and refreshing- the perfect light dish for a hot summer evening. Salt & pepper squid melts in my mouth, so tender and sweet.
I'm going to miss my friends and hosts. They've been so hospitable to take me traveling with them and show me the sights. I've lived a once in a lifetime experience!
I'm going to miss the sunshine. It's intense and hot when it peeks out from behind the clouds, but somehow it's clearer, brighter. Not exactly like a David Hockney painting, but for anyone familiar with his work, it's similar in it's vividness as it highlights the bluest ocean and sky.
4:55am– Soon the cockatoos will screech and caw as they awaken with the sunrise, and I prepare for my return to winter.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Final Countdown
I'm giddy with anticipation as my 14 hour flight back to the US looms near. With less than 3 days left in Sydney, I've been scrambling to fit in all the things I didn't get around to doing already... it's hard to believe there's anything left to do after almost 10 weeks Down Under.
Due to extreme flooding, and the fact that it's mid-summer and hot-hot-hot in Cairns, Queensland, I decided I'd rather wait until "next time" to go up to the Great Barrier Reef. Instead I took a four day trip to Melbourne to visit an old friend. A few evenings in the city and the weekend at Rosebud (more details to come in my next entry) were the perfect way to relax as my holiday is coming to an end.
Making the most of my next few remaining days in Australia, I've got plans to walk across the Harbour Bridge (not climb it, since that costs $180+), watch the Aussie film "Candy" starring Heath Ledger (RIP), and consume my fill of Bundaburg's Ginger Beer and soft black licorice.
I also have to pack. I had to buy a third suitcase for all my stuff! Now I just hope my luggage is not over-weight. Too many Tim Tam cookies!
Due to extreme flooding, and the fact that it's mid-summer and hot-hot-hot in Cairns, Queensland, I decided I'd rather wait until "next time" to go up to the Great Barrier Reef. Instead I took a four day trip to Melbourne to visit an old friend. A few evenings in the city and the weekend at Rosebud (more details to come in my next entry) were the perfect way to relax as my holiday is coming to an end.
Making the most of my next few remaining days in Australia, I've got plans to walk across the Harbour Bridge (not climb it, since that costs $180+), watch the Aussie film "Candy" starring Heath Ledger (RIP), and consume my fill of Bundaburg's Ginger Beer and soft black licorice.
I also have to pack. I had to buy a third suitcase for all my stuff! Now I just hope my luggage is not over-weight. Too many Tim Tam cookies!
10 Days in NZ
At the beginning of February, we spent ten days on New Zealand's South Island. Picturesque and cultural, it reminded me of growing up in the Pacific Northwest. The natural beauty, the outdoorsy lifestyle, and the native influences felt familiar, like home.
On our drive over the Southern Alps towards the western coastal town of Greymouth, most of my view of scenic New Zealand was from the rear seat of our rental car. Mist hung heavily in the morning air, covering the mountain tops in its thick white cloak.
As we drove up to Arthur's Pass on our return trip to Christchurch, however, the sunshine broke through the white blanket to reveal balding, dry mountains, thirsty from the long-time drought they've been suffering through. The forests, though, remained lush with evergreens, alpine trees, and tropical brush.
I have been charmed by this beautiful country, with its unearthly beauty, kind people, and quaint towns. Nestled along the eastern side of the mountains, just about 90-minutes drive from Christchurch, sat a small resort town called Hanmer Springs. With its small shop-lined streets and tourists strolling about, we stopped for a stretch just as a light rain began to fall.
It's not uncommon for a two-lane road to share a single lane bridge to cross many of the low riverbeds. In one instance just outside of Greymouth we crossed a bridge that was shared between two lanes of oncoming traffic AND train tracks.
Sheep were, of course, everywhere. The meat of choice Down Under, I expected to see many sheep, but I met this fine specimen not in the wild, but at the Willowbank Wildlife Reserve just outside Christchurch.
Most of the week was spent in Christchurch exploring the city. I visited the Christchurch Art Gallery/Te Puna O Waiwhetu, where I enjoyed the exhibit highlighting art by graduates from the University of Canterbury Fine Arts program of the past 125 years. We learned more about the Maori culture and the lives of Christchurch's early settlers at the Canterbury Museum. There is also a huge connection between New Zealand and Antarctica, which may be common knowledge, but I was unaware of before my visit.
The highlight of my time in New Zealand had to be the Nature Cruise we took in Akaroa Harbour. About an hour and a half bus ride brought us along winding, narrow roads down Banks Peninsula from Christchurch into town. Shops and cafés line the French-named streets, and occasional French flags remind visitors of the town's original settlers around 1840. Now the town attracts travelers with its offerings of eco-based tours.
Endangered Hector's dolphins swam alongside our boat as we entered the deeper waters of the harbour, cruising along towards the great Pacific Ocean. Mother and calf joined at least six other members of their pod to greet us and play in our wake. Upon reaching open water, the swells felt like they'd launch us from where we stood at the bow into the cool, crystal blue water. After several breathtaking lurches up, then down, then up, then down, we entered another inlet where seals slept, sun bathed, and play within the sheltering cliffs. On the ride back into the harbour, we withstood 80km/hr winds as we, again, clung tightly to the bow.
Our last day in town we caught a free performance by a trio of actors set up in the Botanic Gardens, "The Complete History of New Zealand (Abridged)." In 90 minutes, with some outrageous humor, they summarized the volcanic land development, native history and colonization, Waitangi Day (kind of like their Independence Day), politics, pop culture and the Lord of the Rings, of course.
On our drive over the Southern Alps towards the western coastal town of Greymouth, most of my view of scenic New Zealand was from the rear seat of our rental car. Mist hung heavily in the morning air, covering the mountain tops in its thick white cloak.
As we drove up to Arthur's Pass on our return trip to Christchurch, however, the sunshine broke through the white blanket to reveal balding, dry mountains, thirsty from the long-time drought they've been suffering through. The forests, though, remained lush with evergreens, alpine trees, and tropical brush.
I have been charmed by this beautiful country, with its unearthly beauty, kind people, and quaint towns. Nestled along the eastern side of the mountains, just about 90-minutes drive from Christchurch, sat a small resort town called Hanmer Springs. With its small shop-lined streets and tourists strolling about, we stopped for a stretch just as a light rain began to fall.
It's not uncommon for a two-lane road to share a single lane bridge to cross many of the low riverbeds. In one instance just outside of Greymouth we crossed a bridge that was shared between two lanes of oncoming traffic AND train tracks.
Sheep were, of course, everywhere. The meat of choice Down Under, I expected to see many sheep, but I met this fine specimen not in the wild, but at the Willowbank Wildlife Reserve just outside Christchurch.
Most of the week was spent in Christchurch exploring the city. I visited the Christchurch Art Gallery/Te Puna O Waiwhetu, where I enjoyed the exhibit highlighting art by graduates from the University of Canterbury Fine Arts program of the past 125 years. We learned more about the Maori culture and the lives of Christchurch's early settlers at the Canterbury Museum. There is also a huge connection between New Zealand and Antarctica, which may be common knowledge, but I was unaware of before my visit.
The highlight of my time in New Zealand had to be the Nature Cruise we took in Akaroa Harbour. About an hour and a half bus ride brought us along winding, narrow roads down Banks Peninsula from Christchurch into town. Shops and cafés line the French-named streets, and occasional French flags remind visitors of the town's original settlers around 1840. Now the town attracts travelers with its offerings of eco-based tours.
Endangered Hector's dolphins swam alongside our boat as we entered the deeper waters of the harbour, cruising along towards the great Pacific Ocean. Mother and calf joined at least six other members of their pod to greet us and play in our wake. Upon reaching open water, the swells felt like they'd launch us from where we stood at the bow into the cool, crystal blue water. After several breathtaking lurches up, then down, then up, then down, we entered another inlet where seals slept, sun bathed, and play within the sheltering cliffs. On the ride back into the harbour, we withstood 80km/hr winds as we, again, clung tightly to the bow.
Our last day in town we caught a free performance by a trio of actors set up in the Botanic Gardens, "The Complete History of New Zealand (Abridged)." In 90 minutes, with some outrageous humor, they summarized the volcanic land development, native history and colonization, Waitangi Day (kind of like their Independence Day), politics, pop culture and the Lord of the Rings, of course.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Sydney vs. Boston vs. Melbourne
Leave it to a table full of New Englanders to spend an evening in Sydney, Australia discussing all the reasons this city ISN'T Boston. We ate tasty dinner of crocodile, kangaroo, and barramundi with a fine lemon butter sauce and broccolini. We drank a bottle of a beautiful Hunter Valley Shiraz. We sat out on the patio, the lively hum of summer hugged our ears, and the Opera House sat bright and majestic across the water of Circular Quay. But we all had Boston in common, and we all agreed that despite its many pluses, something was missing from our lives in Sydney.
So I sleep in my Red Sox t-shirt, that doesn't mean my heart belongs to New England only. Far from it, in fact.
We agreed that the restaurants in Sydney are outstanding. It goes without saying that the beaches are amazing. And where else can you sit out on a summer night and watch enormous bats swooping and diving overhead? But the lack of cozy pubs filled with smart 30-somethings, the lack of people reading on public transit, and the exorbitant cost of live music left us missing (just a little bit) our small, cold town. Maybe we're not looking in the right neighborhoods. Or maybe, when in Sydney, we should do as the Sydneysiders do. But what is it they do? Where do they go to unwind and relax when the work day is over?
I surmised that Melbourne might, culturally, be more akin to our historic hometown of drinkers and thinkers. I will report back next week, as it just so happens I'm going to Melbourne tomorrow for a long weekend. I'll be staying with a friend, a local there, who will be showing me the town. Hopefully my days will be filled with theater, music, art, creative inspiration and relaxation.
So I sleep in my Red Sox t-shirt, that doesn't mean my heart belongs to New England only. Far from it, in fact.
We agreed that the restaurants in Sydney are outstanding. It goes without saying that the beaches are amazing. And where else can you sit out on a summer night and watch enormous bats swooping and diving overhead? But the lack of cozy pubs filled with smart 30-somethings, the lack of people reading on public transit, and the exorbitant cost of live music left us missing (just a little bit) our small, cold town. Maybe we're not looking in the right neighborhoods. Or maybe, when in Sydney, we should do as the Sydneysiders do. But what is it they do? Where do they go to unwind and relax when the work day is over?
I surmised that Melbourne might, culturally, be more akin to our historic hometown of drinkers and thinkers. I will report back next week, as it just so happens I'm going to Melbourne tomorrow for a long weekend. I'll be staying with a friend, a local there, who will be showing me the town. Hopefully my days will be filled with theater, music, art, creative inspiration and relaxation.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A Night at the Opera House, part 2
All this talk of music and I had completely forgotten about Sunday's Grammy Awards. I suppose they are highly anticipated in Australia, but they were completely off my radar, implying that perhaps there is not quite the equivalent media frenzy as back in the U.S. I was happy to hear, however, that New Zealand's own Flight of the Conchords won the award for Best Comedy Album. And speaking of New Zealand, I was just there! But more on that in my next entry.
Back to the Opera House.
Slinky fishnetted legs swaggered to jazz standards in the smokey, dimly lit spotlight of The Studio. The draping sleeves and feathered hat gave the "singer" the look of a Muppet crossed with Sally Bowles doing karaoke. Her hands were real, but her head was all foam. Tonight, at a cafe table in the small theater, I sipped a glass of champagne and watched with a smile as puppet after puppet "performed" song and dance in SOMA Puppets' Cabaret Décadance.
http://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/whatson/SOMAPuppetsCabaretDecadanse.aspx
Two puppeteers dressed in black worked in seamless unison to create flawlessly believable gestures and movements of each character, often risqué and always with humor. Implied and shared limbs converge as the three individuals become one performer. Sometimes the men in black were part of the act as they would interact with the puppet, and other times they were merely the momentum behind the dance.
And let me not forget the tri-lingual M.C., a French/Spanish/English-speaking foam-faced woman who waltzed across the stage between acts, occasionally lending her limbs to the main performances.
From life-sized characters with the Swedish Chef's style real hands, to sock puppets with elastic shoulders, to foam-beaked birds with feather fans as tails, the variety in song and style was beyond impressive. The performers were obviously trained in choreography and their inherent enthusiasm for their art and the music they'd chosen roused the audience to clap and laugh throughout the performance. Nina Simone's "Love Me or Leave Me" was one of my favorites, as the silver sequined starlet shimmied and swayed, swinging her green feather boa as she gestured and sang.
With Mardi Gras celebrations just around the corner, this was the perfect Priscilla Queen of the Desert-style performance to set the flamboyant tone for the festivities to come.
Back to the Opera House.
Slinky fishnetted legs swaggered to jazz standards in the smokey, dimly lit spotlight of The Studio. The draping sleeves and feathered hat gave the "singer" the look of a Muppet crossed with Sally Bowles doing karaoke. Her hands were real, but her head was all foam. Tonight, at a cafe table in the small theater, I sipped a glass of champagne and watched with a smile as puppet after puppet "performed" song and dance in SOMA Puppets' Cabaret Décadance.
http://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/whatson/SOMAPuppetsCabaretDecadanse.aspx
Two puppeteers dressed in black worked in seamless unison to create flawlessly believable gestures and movements of each character, often risqué and always with humor. Implied and shared limbs converge as the three individuals become one performer. Sometimes the men in black were part of the act as they would interact with the puppet, and other times they were merely the momentum behind the dance.
And let me not forget the tri-lingual M.C., a French/Spanish/English-speaking foam-faced woman who waltzed across the stage between acts, occasionally lending her limbs to the main performances.
From life-sized characters with the Swedish Chef's style real hands, to sock puppets with elastic shoulders, to foam-beaked birds with feather fans as tails, the variety in song and style was beyond impressive. The performers were obviously trained in choreography and their inherent enthusiasm for their art and the music they'd chosen roused the audience to clap and laugh throughout the performance. Nina Simone's "Love Me or Leave Me" was one of my favorites, as the silver sequined starlet shimmied and swayed, swinging her green feather boa as she gestured and sang.
With Mardi Gras celebrations just around the corner, this was the perfect Priscilla Queen of the Desert-style performance to set the flamboyant tone for the festivities to come.
A Night at the Opera House, part 1
With a roar of applause, Nigel Kennedy came on stage leading the Sydney Symphony Orchestra members after shouting an audible locker room style cheer from off stage. Just from the looks of him I knew I was in store for a classical performance unlike any I had experienced before. With his head shaved except for a deliberately unkempt patch on top, wearing a loose-fitting collarless black jacket that more resembled a beauty salon gown than a tuxedo, his entrance was more befitting a rock star than a violin virtuoso.
The crowd had grown anxious as we awaited the very tardy performers. But, all was obviously forgiven as he plunged into a solo Beethoven treat that was not on the program. Fast and furious, I was immediately absorbed in his mastery of the music and his instrument.
Having arrived at the Sydney Opera House early before the show, the sun was just beginning to set. We walked around inside the grand hallways, marveling at the architectural details that mimicked and reflected the über-famous exterior. Our seats were in an upper balcony, velvet and fuchsia colored. But, actually, there was not a bad seat in the whole Concert Hall since they were arranged 360 degrees around the central stage.
Kennedy played solo and directed the orchestra through Mozart's Violin Concerto No.4 in D, K218. Marvelous! He played with such style and enthusiasm, and it was so obvious the orchestra had a fun time with him as well. The delicate, light notes lilted through the hall. The harpsichord added an historic touch. Heavier notes resonated, full and bold. The performance was Kennedy's take on the piece, interpreted as I've heard jazz: as a dialog. Call and response between the soloist and the orchestra, or the soloist and another individual musician, was something I'd have thought unheard of in classical music, which is typically performed with such formality. The crowd was ecstatic!
His antics continued through to the end of the show. Apparently Kennedy and the first violinist were old school mates, so we were treated to a face-off of the two master musicians. They played a duet, which turned into a competition of sorts: prompting each other to progressively produce some of the highest notes a violin can play. He spoke of his co-stars as "proverbial MF's" with their exceeding talent. He spoke to the crowd, saying how important it is to be a patron of live music, and how much he enjoys "playing for live cats." The swagger in his step, whether from the drink, or drunk with creative passion, was genuine Kennedy.
Two encores later, I think the classical enthusiasts may have been a bit confused by the improv turn that took place after the end of Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D, Op.61. Beethoven's a bit of a sleeper, though, if you ask me. And I think the balding guy who nodded off in front of me might agree. But if all audiences could experience the treat of witnessing Kennedy and the SSO's playful theatrics, the sheer joy expressed through the music, classical music's reputation would change forever for the better.
The crowd had grown anxious as we awaited the very tardy performers. But, all was obviously forgiven as he plunged into a solo Beethoven treat that was not on the program. Fast and furious, I was immediately absorbed in his mastery of the music and his instrument.
Having arrived at the Sydney Opera House early before the show, the sun was just beginning to set. We walked around inside the grand hallways, marveling at the architectural details that mimicked and reflected the über-famous exterior. Our seats were in an upper balcony, velvet and fuchsia colored. But, actually, there was not a bad seat in the whole Concert Hall since they were arranged 360 degrees around the central stage.
Kennedy played solo and directed the orchestra through Mozart's Violin Concerto No.4 in D, K218. Marvelous! He played with such style and enthusiasm, and it was so obvious the orchestra had a fun time with him as well. The delicate, light notes lilted through the hall. The harpsichord added an historic touch. Heavier notes resonated, full and bold. The performance was Kennedy's take on the piece, interpreted as I've heard jazz: as a dialog. Call and response between the soloist and the orchestra, or the soloist and another individual musician, was something I'd have thought unheard of in classical music, which is typically performed with such formality. The crowd was ecstatic!
His antics continued through to the end of the show. Apparently Kennedy and the first violinist were old school mates, so we were treated to a face-off of the two master musicians. They played a duet, which turned into a competition of sorts: prompting each other to progressively produce some of the highest notes a violin can play. He spoke of his co-stars as "proverbial MF's" with their exceeding talent. He spoke to the crowd, saying how important it is to be a patron of live music, and how much he enjoys "playing for live cats." The swagger in his step, whether from the drink, or drunk with creative passion, was genuine Kennedy.
Two encores later, I think the classical enthusiasts may have been a bit confused by the improv turn that took place after the end of Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D, Op.61. Beethoven's a bit of a sleeper, though, if you ask me. And I think the balding guy who nodded off in front of me might agree. But if all audiences could experience the treat of witnessing Kennedy and the SSO's playful theatrics, the sheer joy expressed through the music, classical music's reputation would change forever for the better.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Superbowl/Super Tuesday
What a week to NOT be in the U.S.!
As the New England Patriots sit poised to win another Superbowl this Sunday, and as the presidential primaries come to a polling station near you on Tuesday, I'm going to miss it all!
I know, I know... Here I am soaking up the summer sun as my fellow Bostonians freeze their arses off, so I suppose you may think I'm not allowed to complain. But I speak of comraderie! This is our opportunity to come together over football and/or democracy! Cheer! Vote!
I am an unassuming American ("You sound Canadian," I've been told here) but I take my God-given right to watch football and participate in the electoral process very seriously. We fly to Christchurch, New Zealand today, and our mission is to find a pub that will televise the game... live, at noon on Monday. I did not cast an absentee ballot since my mind was absentee before my departure Down Under, though. I follow the news on who's dropping out of the race, at least.
So, as you all sit eating your nachos and drinking your beer, I'll be thinking of you, and our future president.
P.S. Sydney is still hot and sunny, beautiful beaches, and I am so tan (for a pale white girl like me)!
As the New England Patriots sit poised to win another Superbowl this Sunday, and as the presidential primaries come to a polling station near you on Tuesday, I'm going to miss it all!
I know, I know... Here I am soaking up the summer sun as my fellow Bostonians freeze their arses off, so I suppose you may think I'm not allowed to complain. But I speak of comraderie! This is our opportunity to come together over football and/or democracy! Cheer! Vote!
I am an unassuming American ("You sound Canadian," I've been told here) but I take my God-given right to watch football and participate in the electoral process very seriously. We fly to Christchurch, New Zealand today, and our mission is to find a pub that will televise the game... live, at noon on Monday. I did not cast an absentee ballot since my mind was absentee before my departure Down Under, though. I follow the news on who's dropping out of the race, at least.
So, as you all sit eating your nachos and drinking your beer, I'll be thinking of you, and our future president.
P.S. Sydney is still hot and sunny, beautiful beaches, and I am so tan (for a pale white girl like me)!
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