Lire l’original en français
After surviving huge clouds of grasshoppers blasting their way through the bush, we finally arrived where you can smell exhaust fumes (reed exâââs, as pronounced by Quebeckers). All of the sudden, streets were full of faces wearing large sun glasses and store windows with useless knick-knacks or more trendy clothes. Restaurants were inviting us with colourful foods (Hurray, more salads!) and tables happily set under the autumn sun. As you might imagine, the town seems to have sucked-up a little of the good nature of rural residents. Already, my smiles and “g’day” fell flat and forgotten, answered by only half the people I met.
I remembered my first steps on American soil, after my long adventure in Latin America. How afraid I was! Afraid to never find the brotherhood shared between strangers, so present in villages. Here, it’s mainly the rest area brotherhood I was missing, and of course, the feeling of security from the almost deserted streets, only filled with parrot’ songs and heavy truck’s noises. Australia is magnificent for so many reasons, one of them being its rest area system organised for campers. You can sleep there for free, sometimes with just the stars for friends and sometimes rocked by the non-stop rumbling noise of the road trains. The land of koalas being huge, road trains is greatly valued by its residents. In rest areas, tight-knit communities form every night. There, permanent or occasional caravanists share their stories, political views or adventures of their children abroad. All this, sitting around with an Aussie beer, which is a sort of yellowish and very bitter liquid (thanks Quebec for your good beers!). So I apprehended an arduous adaptation to the urban environment, but I also knew it would be rounded up with astonishment by the ton-fold.
As Marc told you, our first incursion into “Babylon” was awarded with an attack in a family park. Such a hard blow to the global heart; to my heart of universal mother, to my heart of human rights righter (and who aspire to be more actively). There are so many children without childhood. Thanks to all my friends who guide their own so marvellously on this Earth and to parents who guided them so well and continue to do so I’m sure. We needed not to fear for our security, being surrounded by many families on a sunny Sunday, but scores of thoughts to reflect on topics sometimes seeming to have no way out. We were disappointed to see that notwithstanding our genuine interest and faith in the richness of the Aborigines people, we often found its members in unsettled social situation. The fate of conquered people is so challenging and crucially sad. However, it’s important to mention that the kid who hit Marc was one of the two White kids of the gang. Maybe, it doesn’t mean anything, or maybe sociologists might find an interesting explanation to this phenomenon. Despite this incident, we continue to carry interest to every culture and chiefly take advantage of the windfall of ethnic and eclectic meetings the town provides us with. We arrive in Melbourne with a smile on our face and goodwill in our gear.
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Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Too much to say…
Lire la traduction Française
Never take the same route twice, that’s kind of our motto. This is why on March first, leaving Magnetic Island, we decided to cross Australia from North to South trough the bush, the antechamber of the famous Outback. Ahead of us then lay a journey into the Great Unpopulated Land, if I allow myself to give it a name. It has been an absolute meditation, a “lucky pick” filled with surprising landscapes, a tremendously beneficial exercise of breathing fresh air and a wonderful encounter with cowboys and the like.
We started 133 km west of Townsville, in Charters Towers. The picturesque main street with its displays of lace-like iron on the buildings’ corners melted our hearts in the bright sun. Already, many teenagers were strolling around clothed with the most conventional cowboy outfit: hat, boots, and high waist jeans. I was ecstatic (because you know, I looove finding myself in places I’m not used to…).
Many people smiled mysteriously when told of our road plans. We understood when ,exhausted but revitalized, we stopped in a mini-village to camp for the night after having driven about 400 km on a road with NOTHING but infinite horizons. There was one stop: an empty store with two old fuel pumps, a smoking cowboy and a sleeping dog. We also waved our hands at some lonesome cows but they were too busy grazing to answer. So we ended up in Clermont, in gem country. There we met people who lived their lives in a small caravan park and survived by selling the gold they were fossicking for. They were selling metal detectors and trying to convince us we could make a living out of digging rocks, but we had to learn “how to” by buying a DVD that cost $ 79...
Then we hit the floods. It hasn’t rained like this for more than 150 years. 80 % of St.George’s population was evacuated. But you know what? Sadness of loosing houses and belongings was eclipsed by extreme joy of finally making it out of the 10 years drought alive, and with filled water tanks that will be quenching everyone for years. It’s always good to find happiness in misfortunes.
Along the way we saw lush greenness and dry flatness; everywhere the master pastoralists succeeded in creating a liveable country for their different herds. As we made our way south the cows neighboured huge amounts of sheep, some emus, a handful of deer and alpacas, all visited by loads of friendly birds, rabbits and of course, roos. In Central New South Wales, we zoomed across vast cotton, corn, lavender fields and saw many olive groves. I swear the little villages we visited don’t see many tourists from overseas. An Aussie friend we met on the road also said that we had seen vistas that about 0.2 % of Australians had seen. Taking a Bundaberg ginger beer in a desolated tavern populated by worn out cowboys, well that was something.
Each village is so desperate to kidnap some travellers for a while that they all welcome you, one after another each 100 km or so, with a big sign saying they are the tidiest town in Australia 2006, or the friendliest town in Queensland 2008, and one even got as far as boasting it was Australia’s sporting capital (!?!). Moreover, it seems that they all asked their citizens to collect the old machinery, silverware and knick-knacks to create museums of fortune, for each small community invited us to visit their heritage museum, located in a big shed in the middle of town. They certainly can brag about the qualities of their grandmas and grandpas though; everywhere we stopped, we always met some kind white haired fairies of the bush always ready to marvel at our adventures and offer us their nicest smiles…We definitely prefer “live” heritage museums!
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
Never take the same route twice, that’s kind of our motto. This is why on March first, leaving Magnetic Island, we decided to cross Australia from North to South trough the bush, the antechamber of the famous Outback. Ahead of us then lay a journey into the Great Unpopulated Land, if I allow myself to give it a name. It has been an absolute meditation, a “lucky pick” filled with surprising landscapes, a tremendously beneficial exercise of breathing fresh air and a wonderful encounter with cowboys and the like.
We started 133 km west of Townsville, in Charters Towers. The picturesque main street with its displays of lace-like iron on the buildings’ corners melted our hearts in the bright sun. Already, many teenagers were strolling around clothed with the most conventional cowboy outfit: hat, boots, and high waist jeans. I was ecstatic (because you know, I looove finding myself in places I’m not used to…).
Many people smiled mysteriously when told of our road plans. We understood when ,exhausted but revitalized, we stopped in a mini-village to camp for the night after having driven about 400 km on a road with NOTHING but infinite horizons. There was one stop: an empty store with two old fuel pumps, a smoking cowboy and a sleeping dog. We also waved our hands at some lonesome cows but they were too busy grazing to answer. So we ended up in Clermont, in gem country. There we met people who lived their lives in a small caravan park and survived by selling the gold they were fossicking for. They were selling metal detectors and trying to convince us we could make a living out of digging rocks, but we had to learn “how to” by buying a DVD that cost $ 79...
Then we hit the floods. It hasn’t rained like this for more than 150 years. 80 % of St.George’s population was evacuated. But you know what? Sadness of loosing houses and belongings was eclipsed by extreme joy of finally making it out of the 10 years drought alive, and with filled water tanks that will be quenching everyone for years. It’s always good to find happiness in misfortunes.
Along the way we saw lush greenness and dry flatness; everywhere the master pastoralists succeeded in creating a liveable country for their different herds. As we made our way south the cows neighboured huge amounts of sheep, some emus, a handful of deer and alpacas, all visited by loads of friendly birds, rabbits and of course, roos. In Central New South Wales, we zoomed across vast cotton, corn, lavender fields and saw many olive groves. I swear the little villages we visited don’t see many tourists from overseas. An Aussie friend we met on the road also said that we had seen vistas that about 0.2 % of Australians had seen. Taking a Bundaberg ginger beer in a desolated tavern populated by worn out cowboys, well that was something.
Each village is so desperate to kidnap some travellers for a while that they all welcome you, one after another each 100 km or so, with a big sign saying they are the tidiest town in Australia 2006, or the friendliest town in Queensland 2008, and one even got as far as boasting it was Australia’s sporting capital (!?!). Moreover, it seems that they all asked their citizens to collect the old machinery, silverware and knick-knacks to create museums of fortune, for each small community invited us to visit their heritage museum, located in a big shed in the middle of town. They certainly can brag about the qualities of their grandmas and grandpas though; everywhere we stopped, we always met some kind white haired fairies of the bush always ready to marvel at our adventures and offer us their nicest smiles…We definitely prefer “live” heritage museums!
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
Monday, March 15, 2010
Bottle Trees Poetry
Lire l'original en Français
Over the soft green valleys, my eyes focus to infinity. The Sun shines between two downpours and seems to brighten up scintillating dew on the outback grass. My sight owns back the horizon and hops from masterpiece to masterpiece; each and everyone different, each and everyone unique.
They attract me and awaken me, I marvel at them as they remind me the need to celebrate life. These natural works of art are like women to me. Women in the splendour of their various shapes, each one more magnificent then the other in their uniqueness. They are long and tall, short and round, some have a tiny waist and hips shaped like hills and others stun us with their round buttocks. Some of them even look pregnant. But, without exception, they all raise their arms to the sky, as to invite us to dance, to celebrate life in its diversity. During this month hosting the International Women’s day, seeing this nature demonstration, I reiterate my wish to one day see societies where women feel good about themselves, whatever curves they have.
I’m describing to you my quite romanticized vision of Bottle Trees, similar to baobabs, growing alongside deserted roads of Central Queensland. Just looking at them, I was kinking in the car because I wanted so much to join them in their round dance. After arriving in villages, often in the middle of who knows where, where only a few people lived, I would stretch my legs, helping Marc to set up a makeshift camp for the night.
On a beautiful golden and quiet afternoon, I was startled to see a small man coming straight from the woods, where we thought only wallabies, kangaroos and wombats lived. He was walking with a decisive but jagged step, his blue eyes riveted on Marc who was getting ready to become a bush mechanic for the day. Richard came to Australia in 1959 and never went back to Poland, his native country. However, he once built his own big sailboat in Sydney bay and went to live in Papua New Guinea and in Indonesia for about 10 years. In the sixties, islands were still paradises almost untouched by western imprinting. Through his old photos, we saw tribes dancing and young girls posing, a mischievous smile at the corner of their mouths, dedicated of course to our Polish-Australian nomad. In the course of a morning, Richard shared with us his 73 years of life, with a heart-warming simplicity, while the rain chilled the continent once again. Sitting surrounded by his knick-knacks (or Tchotchkes as the Polish say), hoarded during his 20 years lost in the Bush, in his mouldy-smelling house, we gave him company like he rarely gets. While proudly showing us the fruit trees and gardens he planted, Richard said: « I like seeing things grow ». Well, with what I learned about him in the course of that morning, I’m sure he would have been a good grandpa.
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
Over the soft green valleys, my eyes focus to infinity. The Sun shines between two downpours and seems to brighten up scintillating dew on the outback grass. My sight owns back the horizon and hops from masterpiece to masterpiece; each and everyone different, each and everyone unique.
They attract me and awaken me, I marvel at them as they remind me the need to celebrate life. These natural works of art are like women to me. Women in the splendour of their various shapes, each one more magnificent then the other in their uniqueness. They are long and tall, short and round, some have a tiny waist and hips shaped like hills and others stun us with their round buttocks. Some of them even look pregnant. But, without exception, they all raise their arms to the sky, as to invite us to dance, to celebrate life in its diversity. During this month hosting the International Women’s day, seeing this nature demonstration, I reiterate my wish to one day see societies where women feel good about themselves, whatever curves they have.
I’m describing to you my quite romanticized vision of Bottle Trees, similar to baobabs, growing alongside deserted roads of Central Queensland. Just looking at them, I was kinking in the car because I wanted so much to join them in their round dance. After arriving in villages, often in the middle of who knows where, where only a few people lived, I would stretch my legs, helping Marc to set up a makeshift camp for the night.
On a beautiful golden and quiet afternoon, I was startled to see a small man coming straight from the woods, where we thought only wallabies, kangaroos and wombats lived. He was walking with a decisive but jagged step, his blue eyes riveted on Marc who was getting ready to become a bush mechanic for the day. Richard came to Australia in 1959 and never went back to Poland, his native country. However, he once built his own big sailboat in Sydney bay and went to live in Papua New Guinea and in Indonesia for about 10 years. In the sixties, islands were still paradises almost untouched by western imprinting. Through his old photos, we saw tribes dancing and young girls posing, a mischievous smile at the corner of their mouths, dedicated of course to our Polish-Australian nomad. In the course of a morning, Richard shared with us his 73 years of life, with a heart-warming simplicity, while the rain chilled the continent once again. Sitting surrounded by his knick-knacks (or Tchotchkes as the Polish say), hoarded during his 20 years lost in the Bush, in his mouldy-smelling house, we gave him company like he rarely gets. While proudly showing us the fruit trees and gardens he planted, Richard said: « I like seeing things grow ». Well, with what I learned about him in the course of that morning, I’m sure he would have been a good grandpa.
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
Monday, March 8, 2010
Cinderella and koalas
Lire la traduction Française
About a month ago, I got tired of feeling like I could always do more for the planet. I was feeling everything but useful, neither to the people nor to nature. So I started looking up information about volunteering projects in nature and wildlife conservation. I came across a work exchange offering to get up close and personal with Australian wildlife in an educational setting. Moreover, it stipulated that we would be working with injured animals. Marc and I were soooo excited, we redid our plans to head up north to that place, to Magnetic Island.
The deal was that we would alternate work: I do 3 weeks of housekeeping while Marc works with the animals, and then we switch for another 3 weeks. Everything sounded beautiful, so we offered “shocker” a trip on a ferry and we arrived in the beautiful island some kilometers east of Townsville, in tropical Queensland.
We have been here only one week, and we are leaving tomorrow morning.
But before we get to why we are leaving, I want to talk about the magnificence of Magnetic, lovingly called “Maggie” by the locals. It is completely different from the rest of the area. As soon as we see its shores and vegetation, we are taken aback in a swirl of varied memories which help bringing the present moment to its climax. The evergreens that populate the hills bring scents from home and the way they mingle with the lovely colored granite boulders take our hearts back to beautiful Big Sur and Northern California. This island is certainly a vortex of some sort for you have this feeling of being transported to some huge sacred site where ancestors of stone guard your path at every fork in the road. The towering pinkish soft rock formations call for respect and awe in this almost uninhabited island. Their round shapes evoke the sensuality of desert dunes and are just perfect to lie on after they absorbed the goodness of a full day’s sun. What is even more wonderful about Maggie is that it is a Koala sanctuary and you can actually spot lots of cute little grey bundles of fur chewing eucalyptus’ leaves, comfortably sitting where two branches meet. Koalas have lots of wild friends around here as well. Just strolling around the hostel where we lived, we saw plenty of wallabies (even in bright daylight!), lots of cute possums trying to get to our food and many families of curlews, the bird I fell in love with last November in a wildlife park. The curlew has seducing mysterious big eyes and is really elegant on its long stilts. I have to admit it makes really weird noises…along with lots of Australian wildlife, including our cute koala bear, who actually snorts a little like a pig but worse.
So why are we leaving you’ll ask? Because for the first time in Steph’s life, she had to put up with a mean boss, who just seemed to want to make everyone feel stupid. For the first time I felt my unconditional love challenged and I prayed to have some “zen” help to transmute all this negativity into positive energy as the days were going by. As I am not even paid, we just decided to say a heartfelt goodbye to our wild friends, and to start anew, again. Steph and Marc on the road again, ready for some refreshing life-changing adventures!
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
About a month ago, I got tired of feeling like I could always do more for the planet. I was feeling everything but useful, neither to the people nor to nature. So I started looking up information about volunteering projects in nature and wildlife conservation. I came across a work exchange offering to get up close and personal with Australian wildlife in an educational setting. Moreover, it stipulated that we would be working with injured animals. Marc and I were soooo excited, we redid our plans to head up north to that place, to Magnetic Island.
The deal was that we would alternate work: I do 3 weeks of housekeeping while Marc works with the animals, and then we switch for another 3 weeks. Everything sounded beautiful, so we offered “shocker” a trip on a ferry and we arrived in the beautiful island some kilometers east of Townsville, in tropical Queensland.
We have been here only one week, and we are leaving tomorrow morning.
But before we get to why we are leaving, I want to talk about the magnificence of Magnetic, lovingly called “Maggie” by the locals. It is completely different from the rest of the area. As soon as we see its shores and vegetation, we are taken aback in a swirl of varied memories which help bringing the present moment to its climax. The evergreens that populate the hills bring scents from home and the way they mingle with the lovely colored granite boulders take our hearts back to beautiful Big Sur and Northern California. This island is certainly a vortex of some sort for you have this feeling of being transported to some huge sacred site where ancestors of stone guard your path at every fork in the road. The towering pinkish soft rock formations call for respect and awe in this almost uninhabited island. Their round shapes evoke the sensuality of desert dunes and are just perfect to lie on after they absorbed the goodness of a full day’s sun. What is even more wonderful about Maggie is that it is a Koala sanctuary and you can actually spot lots of cute little grey bundles of fur chewing eucalyptus’ leaves, comfortably sitting where two branches meet. Koalas have lots of wild friends around here as well. Just strolling around the hostel where we lived, we saw plenty of wallabies (even in bright daylight!), lots of cute possums trying to get to our food and many families of curlews, the bird I fell in love with last November in a wildlife park. The curlew has seducing mysterious big eyes and is really elegant on its long stilts. I have to admit it makes really weird noises…along with lots of Australian wildlife, including our cute koala bear, who actually snorts a little like a pig but worse.
So why are we leaving you’ll ask? Because for the first time in Steph’s life, she had to put up with a mean boss, who just seemed to want to make everyone feel stupid. For the first time I felt my unconditional love challenged and I prayed to have some “zen” help to transmute all this negativity into positive energy as the days were going by. As I am not even paid, we just decided to say a heartfelt goodbye to our wild friends, and to start anew, again. Steph and Marc on the road again, ready for some refreshing life-changing adventures!
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Theresa
Lire l’original en Français
My big earphone covering my ears, I was thrilled to listen to my beautiful friend Donelle filling me in with her news from far away United States of America. Like many of my beautiful friends, I share with her a huge interest for native cultures from all over the world. It’s a little like falling in love with the most popular guy in school: it’s an almost impossible love. It’s hard to get close to these wounded societies. How to act? Showing too much interest can be felt as an assault and trying to pace the fire of curiosity can have us miss lots of opportunities … How many times did we get lost in the labyrinth of sociological questions, which are related to every topic concerning the First Nations…
So we don’t get lost once again, I’ll go on my story (!). When came my turn to tell stories from Down Under, I got stuck on the prickly topic of Australian Aborigines. The more we go up North, the more we feel their presence and the more people alert us against theft, rape and all other sorts of crimes allegedly committed mostly by the “Blackfellows”. That never deterred us from visiting more and more aboriginal culture centres and from asking what we can do to learn more about this millennial culture. But the centennial wound is there, hurting and felt everywhere through hatred between blacks and whites, even though, sometimes this hatred is drowned in mutual attempts to understand each other’s culture. We always walk on egg shells. Furthermore, opportunities to come closer to aborigines’ communities are rare and not easy to access. I applied to be volunteer on a 2-months project in small communities, but it required to have been an Australian resident for at least 12 months. And the project Marc and I cherish in Arnhem Land is really too expensive: it costs $ 800 dollars per person for a week.
After having shared my emotions with my friend, Marc and I headed for a small local market. Behind one of the tables was Theresa, her big obscure lips reigning over the ochre reflections of her paintings of ancestral tales. I rush over to her, renewing my positive thinking. For months, I dreamt of buying an aboriginal piece of art, but you know me, I won’t buy it until I’m sure it is fare to the artist. Here’s my luck. Theresa starts talking, much like these abundant cascades in the surrounding jungle. She speaks! Almost more than I do! She speaks of her people, from Darwin area. She speaks of her 7 children’s “dreamings”, such as the gecko, and a nice wading bird called curlew. In her tribe, when a child is still young, the entire family watches for signs from nature to find the animal to which the young one will be associated his entire life. Like a totem animal. A wild life spiritual guide. With her, I don’t feel bad to be white. And it’s precious. Her children smile at me and we buy a magnificent canvas, with a reel story, which I hope will contribute to preserve a little more of this dying culture.
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
My big earphone covering my ears, I was thrilled to listen to my beautiful friend Donelle filling me in with her news from far away United States of America. Like many of my beautiful friends, I share with her a huge interest for native cultures from all over the world. It’s a little like falling in love with the most popular guy in school: it’s an almost impossible love. It’s hard to get close to these wounded societies. How to act? Showing too much interest can be felt as an assault and trying to pace the fire of curiosity can have us miss lots of opportunities … How many times did we get lost in the labyrinth of sociological questions, which are related to every topic concerning the First Nations…
So we don’t get lost once again, I’ll go on my story (!). When came my turn to tell stories from Down Under, I got stuck on the prickly topic of Australian Aborigines. The more we go up North, the more we feel their presence and the more people alert us against theft, rape and all other sorts of crimes allegedly committed mostly by the “Blackfellows”. That never deterred us from visiting more and more aboriginal culture centres and from asking what we can do to learn more about this millennial culture. But the centennial wound is there, hurting and felt everywhere through hatred between blacks and whites, even though, sometimes this hatred is drowned in mutual attempts to understand each other’s culture. We always walk on egg shells. Furthermore, opportunities to come closer to aborigines’ communities are rare and not easy to access. I applied to be volunteer on a 2-months project in small communities, but it required to have been an Australian resident for at least 12 months. And the project Marc and I cherish in Arnhem Land is really too expensive: it costs $ 800 dollars per person for a week.
After having shared my emotions with my friend, Marc and I headed for a small local market. Behind one of the tables was Theresa, her big obscure lips reigning over the ochre reflections of her paintings of ancestral tales. I rush over to her, renewing my positive thinking. For months, I dreamt of buying an aboriginal piece of art, but you know me, I won’t buy it until I’m sure it is fare to the artist. Here’s my luck. Theresa starts talking, much like these abundant cascades in the surrounding jungle. She speaks! Almost more than I do! She speaks of her people, from Darwin area. She speaks of her 7 children’s “dreamings”, such as the gecko, and a nice wading bird called curlew. In her tribe, when a child is still young, the entire family watches for signs from nature to find the animal to which the young one will be associated his entire life. Like a totem animal. A wild life spiritual guide. With her, I don’t feel bad to be white. And it’s precious. Her children smile at me and we buy a magnificent canvas, with a reel story, which I hope will contribute to preserve a little more of this dying culture.
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
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