Friends!
A Year in Australia has moved to wordpress. You can read about our adventures and encounters, my unending fascination with this continent, its plants and animals, and its people, at: ayearinaustralia.wordpress.com
You can subscribe to the new blog so that you can receive it by email. I look forward to hearing from you!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
The Amazing Life of Australian Politics
At this most intense of moments in Australian politics -- a moment that has become historical and unique -- it is hard not to become completely involved in the state of the nation. In the last few days, I have learned more about the Australian electoral system, the different districts from Western Australia to Tasmania, and about the dark insides of the major parties. Though much of the campain had been vapid, leaving many voters uncertain about how these two parties truly differ, this lack of policy and vision has now been explicitly stated with senior party officials admitting to a 'lack of identity'.
Because voting is compulsory in Australia (with 95% turnout), many voters, uncertain, uninterested, cast an 'informal' vote on Saturday. An informal vote is a blank ballot. In fact, this was recommended by a former Labor Minister, Mark Latham, whose antics have become well-known (and despised by some). Incredibly, a former politician recommended that voters not vote...
The way that the two parties went about campaigning was lacking in insight and ideas. At times, it seemed to me that they did not trust the public enough to express real thoughts, to provide concise and detailed policy. The public responded on election day. They said: we are not as dumb as you think; we can see through the veneer. Every time you do not answer a question, every time you cater to the 'swing vote', we see through you!
This was most disastrous for the ruling Labor party -- they have lost thirteen seats (according to the latest numbers). And it marks the first time since WWII that a ruling party does not get voted in after its first term in office and the first hung parliament since 1940.
What has happened, it seems to me, is that Labor has been so focused on getting the 'swing vote' that did not appeal to the usual Labor voters and that were too centered around local (mainly Sydney) issues, that they lost a great number of their expected supporters. Many were disenchanted with the way Rudd was ousted back in June, but many more were disenchanted with Labor's turning back on its key promise: climate change.
 | |
| A Greens How-to-Vote Guide |
Now with a hung parliament, with no expectation for either of the two major parties to win a majority in the House of Representatives, the eyes are on three independent officials, and the one Greens. Though some may bemoan this, I actually think it is very refreshing -- neither of the two big parties will be able to control politics; or, to put it differently, politics has to become more than party politics. While the three independents come from conservative backgrounds, their interests do not betray an immediate inclination to either party. In fact, some of their views seem left to me -- like helping local farmers, ending the importation of basic goods that abound in Australia (bananas among them), and keeping the broadbandnetwork (NBN) public. These three come from rural areas and are interested in bringing the problems of rural Australia to the center of politics. This, and the fact that they are not servants to any party, has a lot of potential, I think, and can be the first step toward the end of the two-party system here.
One of the biggest issues in this campaign has been the broadband network. It sounds strange, and for me it was very puzzling at first. I had not previously considered the infrastructure of the internet as a political issue at all. It seems that in the US, the broadband was constructed by private companies (AT&T and Bell), thus making little headlines in the political world. These companies accepted that they'd have a loss at first, but expected to make it up quickly. The case is very different in Australia. With a very small population in comparison, and many who live hundreds of miles from any major metropolitan area, "making the investment back quickly" is not at all realistic. In fact, no one may ever make money back on their investment. So it is up to the government to provide this infrastructure. But, should it be a political campaign issue?
This was the question I asked myself throughout, and, I concluded with many others, the reason that it is an issue is because the two parties literally have so little to argue about, they made this into an issue. Labor wants to build it; Liberals do not.
Surely it deserves some serious thinking and is of particular significance for those who do not live in the major cities. Without high-speed internet in places outside of these cities, most people cramp into them. The other night I met someone who works in web-design and would love to move to country NSW, but worries about whether he'd be able to continue to do his work there. "Without the security of high-speed internet, I will not leave Sydney," he simply told me.
This makes the big cities that are already crowded even more crowded. And, it clearly affects those who live in the rural areas, and their businesses. So it makes sense to create a high-speed broadband network that would cover all of Australia -- but it has a very large price: A$ 43 billion!
Throughout the campaign, I joked that it is telling that the major issue in Australian politics is how fast you can download a movie from the internet (right now, even in Sydney, it takes a few hours; the proposed plan would take 7 seconds). But joking aside, it seems that this issue will be a key factor in the outcomes of this election. The three independents whose choice will be decisive are all deeply invested in bringing technology to rural Australia and in building this infrastructure. Amazing!
Saturday, August 21, 2010
a quick update from the election front
Just in: the Melbourne seat went 55% green! The first ever Greens in the House of Representatives in Australia.
And: In Tasmania, another likely win for the Greens!!
The Greens have been doing immensly well. In Sydney 26% of voters voted green. Even here, in the Liberal (right) northern suburbs, the greens have received 16%. Could the greens form a government within the next ten years?
But--not good for Labor in general. Predictions: a Hung Parliament. Very intense.
Waiting for Western Australia, which is three hours behind...
And: In Tasmania, another likely win for the Greens!!
The Greens have been doing immensly well. In Sydney 26% of voters voted green. Even here, in the Liberal (right) northern suburbs, the greens have received 16%. Could the greens form a government within the next ten years?
But--not good for Labor in general. Predictions: a Hung Parliament. Very intense.
Waiting for Western Australia, which is three hours behind...
tomorrow is election day
Given the fact that tomorrow is election day, I thought I should share my favorite mock advertisement of the Liberal party candidate, Tony Abbott (mentioned previously for his budgie smuggler). This was made by political comedians, and the first time I saw it, I couldn't stop laughing...
Friday, August 20, 2010
Warm ... Warmer
As we approach election day (tomorrow; Saturday) we quickly approach--and bump into with a jolt--spring.
It's spring in Sydney! And I want to sing with e.e. cummings about the mudlicious world; but it is not mudlicious here and the children have not ceased to play for three or more months of hibernation. There is no cracking and melting snow, no sudden exposure to the forgotten sun, no early blooms. It is a much quieter affair--spring in Sydney--signaled by smaller movements, less evident details.
The days are more dreamy and the sun more striking. The people more bare and more colorful.
Yesterday as I stood on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, I felt the sun strong on my cheeks and nose. Though the sun never really disappeared in winter, its spring visage is different. It is yellower, starker--I really felt it on my cheeks yesterday, enveloping me in in its warmth. It covered the streets, and washed over the half-bare bodies. People wearing t-shirts and short skirts, sat outside and didn't get cold.
The mood has changed. Though Sydney is by no means a frantic city by world standards, it is still a big city, with traffic jams and anxious people waiting. But this first week of spring issues in a slower, more relaxed pace, a pace that makes place for a moment to stop and take in the warmth of the sun, take off the winter layers, and take a seat outside. Everyone in Sydney, it seems, is on a break. And this break has something large, warm and dreamy about it. It's not only the koalas that dream away perched on the gum trees. The people do too.
So in honor of the relaxed pace of Sydney, I composed a humorous poem about the way that language is used here--requiring the least amount of effort.
When your relatives are 'relos'
And vegetarian friends are 'veggos'
When Salvation Army is 'Salvos'
And avocados are 'avos'
When breakfast is 'brekkie'
And a biscuit a 'bikki'
When prepositions are dispensable
('A week from Thursday' is
'Thursday week')
And you don't need definite articles
('go to the hospital' is
'go to hosiptal')
When the barista is your mate
Or buddy
And you order a 'cap'
Or 'dandy'
You know that you are
Speaking with an
Aussie!!
***
But it would be wrong to highlight the warmth of the spring and overlook the ever-present warmth of Sydney. Though it is much warmer in its red center, Australia's periphery does not lack in warmth. This is the feeling that has been with me since we arrived. A nurturing enveloping warmth. In turn, the ocean's horizons create an openness, a breathing space for the soul. And with these two senses, I feel both grounded and contemplative at the same time. A steady security that gives way to the aspiration to delve into the significant.
It's spring in Sydney! And I want to sing with e.e. cummings about the mudlicious world; but it is not mudlicious here and the children have not ceased to play for three or more months of hibernation. There is no cracking and melting snow, no sudden exposure to the forgotten sun, no early blooms. It is a much quieter affair--spring in Sydney--signaled by smaller movements, less evident details.
The days are more dreamy and the sun more striking. The people more bare and more colorful.
Yesterday as I stood on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, I felt the sun strong on my cheeks and nose. Though the sun never really disappeared in winter, its spring visage is different. It is yellower, starker--I really felt it on my cheeks yesterday, enveloping me in in its warmth. It covered the streets, and washed over the half-bare bodies. People wearing t-shirts and short skirts, sat outside and didn't get cold.
The mood has changed. Though Sydney is by no means a frantic city by world standards, it is still a big city, with traffic jams and anxious people waiting. But this first week of spring issues in a slower, more relaxed pace, a pace that makes place for a moment to stop and take in the warmth of the sun, take off the winter layers, and take a seat outside. Everyone in Sydney, it seems, is on a break. And this break has something large, warm and dreamy about it. It's not only the koalas that dream away perched on the gum trees. The people do too.
 |
| At Paddington Market |
 |
| At Weekly Farmers' Market |
So in honor of the relaxed pace of Sydney, I composed a humorous poem about the way that language is used here--requiring the least amount of effort.
When your relatives are 'relos'
And vegetarian friends are 'veggos'
When Salvation Army is 'Salvos'
And avocados are 'avos'
When breakfast is 'brekkie'
And a biscuit a 'bikki'
When prepositions are dispensable
('A week from Thursday' is
'Thursday week')
And you don't need definite articles
('go to the hospital' is
'go to hosiptal')
When the barista is your mate
Or buddy
And you order a 'cap'
Or 'dandy'
You know that you are
Speaking with an
Aussie!!
***
 |
| Sydney Uni under Sydney Blue Sky |
But it would be wrong to highlight the warmth of the spring and overlook the ever-present warmth of Sydney. Though it is much warmer in its red center, Australia's periphery does not lack in warmth. This is the feeling that has been with me since we arrived. A nurturing enveloping warmth. In turn, the ocean's horizons create an openness, a breathing space for the soul. And with these two senses, I feel both grounded and contemplative at the same time. A steady security that gives way to the aspiration to delve into the significant.
 |
| Ruins in Sydney |
Saturday, August 7, 2010
(More) Europe in Australia
The last few days have witnessed an immensity of thinking and feeling--thinking and feeling my way around this place: Australia, Sydney, the northern beaches...
Being here, in this farthest of European satellites, has lead me to think--over and over again--about Europe. It is strange--I realize this--but I can't help but think about Europe and its immense will to extend its arms and legs as far out as possible, and end up here. It is so clear to me that Sydney is a European city and Australia at large is a European "satellite." [I use this term "satellite" because it seems more appropriate than either "colony" or "country." It is not a European country because it is not in what we call "Europe" geographically, and because Australia is, in some ways, decisively different from Europe. Not all Australians belong to or feel a connection with Europe, and in some ways the Australian out-back is distinctively Australian. It is not a colony, because, well, it is independent of England, and has its own laws, leaders etc. But it is a European satellite, because it belongs, in a strong way, to the European world, and world-view. Its values are European. It is an implantation of Europe in the far east.]
Last night I read an article in the Australian magazine, The Monthly, that connects the origins of Melbourne University's humanities departments, among them the philosophy department, to recent European immigrants. The first people to really make the University an exciting and intellectually rich place were WWII refugees from Europe. They went on to start important journals, conceive whole departments (Anthropology), and create a strong sense of culture at the University--European culture, of course. But if one thinks only one step further--the very idea of a University and of the various faculties is, well, European (German, to be exact).
In Sydney, I find myself surrounded by Europeans. All of Luke's family are recent immigrants from Europe (post WWII), and their connections to Europe are very strong. His mother and aunt still speak French; his other aunt, German. Many Friends have European connections--whether they were born in Europe, married to Europeans, or living in Europe. (Yesterday I went for a walk in Manly with a family friend, and we spoke German the whole time... )
All this Europe around me has lead me to think about Europe--surprisingly, for the first time. I had always thought: I am not European, therefore I don't need to concern myself with Europe. This attitude was based on the belief that Europe is for the Europeans, and they should really be thinking about it--I am an outsider.
But here, where Europe has extended itself so clearly "outside" of Europe, the ideas of "inside" and "outside" don't hold. In fact, they are shown to be completely false. We don't have a choice any more--whether or not we are Europeans or live "inside" or "outside" of it--but to think about Europe, because, in fact, every day, we are living with and in Europe.
What does this mean? Well, I write and speak in English. Though it is not my first language, it is the language I am most comfortable in. I study European thought. I read mostly European authors. I lived in "Europe" for many years. I speak German, and French. My home country was deeply influenced by European activity in the region (colonization, etc.). My aunts looked at Europe as setting the standard for fashion. My father studied in European institutions. The list goes on.
But what is remarkable to me, is that in spite of these deep connections to "Europe," it is not until Australia that I begin to become aware of them. Europe, I now realize, is much more than a geographical location.
[Side note: You may think my realization is quite late, and, might wonder, why I didn't consider this question previously, in the US, for example. It is interesting to think about the US and how it differs from Australia in its relation to Europe. I actually think that Australia's connections to Europe are much more present than America's connections to Europe. The European immigrants are more recent, and their connections are therefore stronger. Also, the cities here look more European (think Chicago, LA, Atlanta--they are very "American" cities). Though of course America is an offshoot of Europe and represents the unfolding of some European ideas (capitalism, for example), it has also a very strong and specific identity that makes it more independent of Europe as well.]
What do the Europeans think of this? I would be excited to hear...
Being here, in this farthest of European satellites, has lead me to think--over and over again--about Europe. It is strange--I realize this--but I can't help but think about Europe and its immense will to extend its arms and legs as far out as possible, and end up here. It is so clear to me that Sydney is a European city and Australia at large is a European "satellite." [I use this term "satellite" because it seems more appropriate than either "colony" or "country." It is not a European country because it is not in what we call "Europe" geographically, and because Australia is, in some ways, decisively different from Europe. Not all Australians belong to or feel a connection with Europe, and in some ways the Australian out-back is distinctively Australian. It is not a colony, because, well, it is independent of England, and has its own laws, leaders etc. But it is a European satellite, because it belongs, in a strong way, to the European world, and world-view. Its values are European. It is an implantation of Europe in the far east.]
Last night I read an article in the Australian magazine, The Monthly, that connects the origins of Melbourne University's humanities departments, among them the philosophy department, to recent European immigrants. The first people to really make the University an exciting and intellectually rich place were WWII refugees from Europe. They went on to start important journals, conceive whole departments (Anthropology), and create a strong sense of culture at the University--European culture, of course. But if one thinks only one step further--the very idea of a University and of the various faculties is, well, European (German, to be exact).
In Sydney, I find myself surrounded by Europeans. All of Luke's family are recent immigrants from Europe (post WWII), and their connections to Europe are very strong. His mother and aunt still speak French; his other aunt, German. Many Friends have European connections--whether they were born in Europe, married to Europeans, or living in Europe. (Yesterday I went for a walk in Manly with a family friend, and we spoke German the whole time... )
All this Europe around me has lead me to think about Europe--surprisingly, for the first time. I had always thought: I am not European, therefore I don't need to concern myself with Europe. This attitude was based on the belief that Europe is for the Europeans, and they should really be thinking about it--I am an outsider.
But here, where Europe has extended itself so clearly "outside" of Europe, the ideas of "inside" and "outside" don't hold. In fact, they are shown to be completely false. We don't have a choice any more--whether or not we are Europeans or live "inside" or "outside" of it--but to think about Europe, because, in fact, every day, we are living with and in Europe.
What does this mean? Well, I write and speak in English. Though it is not my first language, it is the language I am most comfortable in. I study European thought. I read mostly European authors. I lived in "Europe" for many years. I speak German, and French. My home country was deeply influenced by European activity in the region (colonization, etc.). My aunts looked at Europe as setting the standard for fashion. My father studied in European institutions. The list goes on.
But what is remarkable to me, is that in spite of these deep connections to "Europe," it is not until Australia that I begin to become aware of them. Europe, I now realize, is much more than a geographical location.
[Side note: You may think my realization is quite late, and, might wonder, why I didn't consider this question previously, in the US, for example. It is interesting to think about the US and how it differs from Australia in its relation to Europe. I actually think that Australia's connections to Europe are much more present than America's connections to Europe. The European immigrants are more recent, and their connections are therefore stronger. Also, the cities here look more European (think Chicago, LA, Atlanta--they are very "American" cities). Though of course America is an offshoot of Europe and represents the unfolding of some European ideas (capitalism, for example), it has also a very strong and specific identity that makes it more independent of Europe as well.]
What do the Europeans think of this? I would be excited to hear...
Friday, July 30, 2010
Becoming Australian
Two nights ago, just before I went to bed, I had a very specific thought: if I check my email now, I would have a different feeling. But, I don't really want to check my email, so I will go to bed feeling the same. This thought remained with me when I woke up the next morning. But, it was not until well into the afternoon that I turned on my computer and looked at my messages. The email I'd thought about many hours previously, and that would change the way "I felt," was there. It was strange and exciting. My application for immigration to Australia was approved!
All I need to do now is go to New Zealand. It may sound odd, but it is true: I have to go to New Zealand in order to become a resident of Australia. It is not because Australian residents must be acquainted with the country's best friend (though that would be very cute); in fact, I can travel anywhere outside of Australia, and upon re-entering, I begin my journey of becoming Australian (this has to do with the fact that I applied outside of Australia). The closest "anywhere" to Sydney is none other than New Zealand, where we'll be going in September. So I have quite a bit of time to consider what it means to become Australian....
Enjoying a "soy-dandy" at Badde Manors in Glebe
Last Sunday, the two candidates for the position of prime minister had their first debate. I watched, and learned about the strange life of Australian politics. For one, the opposition candidate (Tony Abbot from the Liberals [more right]) is best known for his "budgie smuggler." A truly beautiful expression, and incredibly vivid, but also quite crass -- thought no one seems to mind this. It took me a while to figure out what a budgie smuggeler is, but, to put it as simply as possible, "budgie" is the abbreviation for a small Australian parrot, the budgerigar. Now imagine, if you were trying to smuggle an Australian parrot into another country, where would you hide it?
A budgie smuggler is nothing other than a speedo men's swim suit! And the opposition candidate famously wears this when he goes swimming, just around the corner at Manly Beach.
Abbott began his part of the debate with a dinky-di Australian expression: "fair go." Then he followed it up with "fair dinkum," saying something along the lines of: "If we want to be fair dinkum about this, Julia..." Well, Julia responded quickly: "I am glad you brought up 'fair dinkum', Tony, because that is exactly what we need to be," and the rest of the evening degenerated into fair dinkum this and fair dinkum that. It was possibly one of the most used expressions of the evening -- other than Julia's famous "moving forward." Fair dinkum means genuine, authentic, the real thing (in German Bodenständig might be a good translation). And "dinky-di" means "true-blue" -- as in dinky-di Australian (which I will never become). Much of the debate, unfortunately, remained vague and revolved around such expressions, leaving much to be desired.
In the meantime, I've been hanging laundry on Australia's best invention -- Hill's Hoist (no idea why it hasn't made it outside of Australia) -- and learning one particularly beloved Australian poem, "My Country." It is sentimental, but it does capture the extremes of the Australian landscape, and weather. This is the part that our friend (and fifth-generation Aus.), Lee, particularly likes:
I actually have some of the "brown land" on my desk; a friend gave me a bit of red sand from Uluru to welcome me to Australia. It was not until she went to Uluru and communicated with the rock, she told me, that she felt at home in Australia. After New Zealand -- Uluru!
All I need to do now is go to New Zealand. It may sound odd, but it is true: I have to go to New Zealand in order to become a resident of Australia. It is not because Australian residents must be acquainted with the country's best friend (though that would be very cute); in fact, I can travel anywhere outside of Australia, and upon re-entering, I begin my journey of becoming Australian (this has to do with the fact that I applied outside of Australia). The closest "anywhere" to Sydney is none other than New Zealand, where we'll be going in September. So I have quite a bit of time to consider what it means to become Australian....
Enjoying a "soy-dandy" at Badde Manors in Glebe
Last Sunday, the two candidates for the position of prime minister had their first debate. I watched, and learned about the strange life of Australian politics. For one, the opposition candidate (Tony Abbot from the Liberals [more right]) is best known for his "budgie smuggler." A truly beautiful expression, and incredibly vivid, but also quite crass -- thought no one seems to mind this. It took me a while to figure out what a budgie smuggeler is, but, to put it as simply as possible, "budgie" is the abbreviation for a small Australian parrot, the budgerigar. Now imagine, if you were trying to smuggle an Australian parrot into another country, where would you hide it?
A budgie smuggler is nothing other than a speedo men's swim suit! And the opposition candidate famously wears this when he goes swimming, just around the corner at Manly Beach.
Abbott began his part of the debate with a dinky-di Australian expression: "fair go." Then he followed it up with "fair dinkum," saying something along the lines of: "If we want to be fair dinkum about this, Julia..." Well, Julia responded quickly: "I am glad you brought up 'fair dinkum', Tony, because that is exactly what we need to be," and the rest of the evening degenerated into fair dinkum this and fair dinkum that. It was possibly one of the most used expressions of the evening -- other than Julia's famous "moving forward." Fair dinkum means genuine, authentic, the real thing (in German Bodenständig might be a good translation). And "dinky-di" means "true-blue" -- as in dinky-di Australian (which I will never become). Much of the debate, unfortunately, remained vague and revolved around such expressions, leaving much to be desired.
In the meantime, I've been hanging laundry on Australia's best invention -- Hill's Hoist (no idea why it hasn't made it outside of Australia) -- and learning one particularly beloved Australian poem, "My Country." It is sentimental, but it does capture the extremes of the Australian landscape, and weather. This is the part that our friend (and fifth-generation Aus.), Lee, particularly likes:
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!
I actually have some of the "brown land" on my desk; a friend gave me a bit of red sand from Uluru to welcome me to Australia. It was not until she went to Uluru and communicated with the rock, she told me, that she felt at home in Australia. After New Zealand -- Uluru!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Changes
Following the "coldest day in Sydney," we had a warm, sunny week, during which we spent time on the beach, sat outside and drank coffee after coffee, and drove with Luke's brother, Adam, and family friend (and fifth-generation Australian), Lee, to the Hunter Valley. Our two hour drive went through bush and country towns, and Toronto...
In the Hunter Valley, we were given so many varieties of wine to taste, and compare, that I began to understand the difference between "old world" and "new world" wines (the latter is much darker and harbors stronger fruit flavors).
In the Hunter Valley, we were given so many varieties of wine to taste, and compare, that I began to understand the difference between "old world" and "new world" wines (the latter is much darker and harbors stronger fruit flavors).
Adam, joyous
old world, new world
We picnicked in an ideal location just outside of one of the wineries, looking out onto green valleys and mountains.
The warm weather of last week now seems but a dream--this, of course, is an exaggeration, because the clouds are never thick or pervasive enough to keep the un-shy sun from making its entrance, some time in the day. Last night we had thunderstorms, and this morning the rain seemed endless, but now the afternoon is nothing but sun-drenched green and warm-stillness, interrupted only by the still-surprising sounds of Australian birds (not chirps, but howls and cries--sometimes I mistake them for children's cries).
Last night, while it rained, we ventured out into Sydney, by bus. Our last three weeks have been filled with cars, driving into town, driving to the beaches, driving to visit this or that person... We've become car-dependent. This is not entirely our fault. The northern suburbs, where we're staying, are possibly the most out-of-reach area in Sydney, with no train access. And Sydney is a very large city, that has a sprawl problem, so if you want to cover a good amount of distance, it is difficult to go via public transport.
But ... this is not to diminish the simultaneous sense of pleasure and displeasure I felt as I toured the city. Sydney is beautiful; its white sand beaches, its intense blue skies, its diverse neighborhoods, and its wealth of wildlife reserves, are sources of beauty and pleasure for me. But to see these things via car made for a paradox--as I witnessed the natural beauty of this place, I was also aware of how my activities were destroying the very beauty which I so enjoyed.
So last night, on a rainy winter evening, we drove to a nearby bus stop, and took the bus downtown. It was not expensive, nor was it a long ride (30 mins). It was less stressful than having to find parking, and worrying about traffic (buses here have special lanes so they can avoid getting caught in jams).
Our destination, I should add, was the Australian Chamber Orchestra (ACO), which was performing with the "barefoot fiddler." Though I hadn't known much about the Barefoot Fiddler, or about the ACO, I came to wonder whether this wild, ecstatic, energetic performance provides insight into Australia?
Let me begin by saying this: the members of the ACO do not sit down while performing. This makes for a much more intense and energetic performance (no one sitting in the back yawning...). There were more women on stage than men (10 women; 6 men). And the women were wearing see-through black dresses with pants underneath (gypsy-like). The atmosphere was playful, exuberant and filled with warmth. The musicians exchanged hugs at the end, the solo violinist (the barefoot fiddler) played three encores, none by herself, but always with a member of the ACO, and the audience was filled with excitement as they stepped out of the hall onto the rainy streets.
The ACO with the Barefoot Fiddler in the lower left hand corner (sorry it's blurry)
The barefoot fiddler is a young woman from Moldova who was invited for a second time to perform with and lead the ACO. Her particular trait seems to be a high-energy, intensive performance, in which she is able to bring together the folkloric traditions of Eastern Europe--and the exuberance of folk-musicians--with classical music. Her performance seemed to me unique, and, being not a music critic, I cannot describe it by comparison to other musicians or give you a sense for how her playing affected the music. But a good way by which to describe her style is Dionysian. Some times you'd think she is in a frenzy. Her whole body moved with the music, and one could say that she was practically dancing while playing. This made for an interesting show, alongside the wild-sounding Haydn!! She went crazy with Vivaldi; speed was her joy (reminding me of young violinist who are so excited to play, they only play faster), and so was improvisation--she did quite a bit of that in the Vivaldi piece. The most interesting for me, though, were the Eastern European compositions she played--one by an Armenian composer, Mansurian, and another by the Hungarian Veress. Her ecstatic style went very well with the classical-folkloric elements in both their works and her high-energy was very much in tune with Veress's "Four Transylvanivan Dances." It was fun, and it gave me a sense for how wild things can get around here. (The Christmas performance of the ACO promises to be just as wild, with theater alongside the music.)
The last change of the week (besides temperature and mode of transportation), concerns habitation. Luke and I have been on the search for an apartment in Sydney, and have settled on something. But more about this next time...
Finally: I have been recently advised by friend and privacy expert that I should switch to Wordpress. But I found it so hard to work with Wordpress. Any advice?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
"A Week of Your Life, and Your Life Savings!"
A couple of nights ago, I had the (mis)fortune of sitting next to a certain "E" who, for about an hour, complained about Australia. This is certainly not the best thing for a new-arrival to hear, but E's constant clamor lead me to think about the place that is Australia and its meaning and significance within the world.
E's grievances against Australia are many, but they come down to two key points: Australians are dumb, and Australia is isolated. When I asked her about what Australians thought of Americans, she said that Americans are also dumb, so dumbness is not a particularly Australian attribute. But the isolation seems particular to Australia. "To get to Europe," E bemoaned, "it takes a week of your life, and your life savings!"
This lead me to reflect upon the place and meaning of Australia on the world-stage and in the Australian consciousness. Though most fifth-generation Australians would identify themselves first with Australia, and then maybe with Europe, there remains, in the back of most Australians' consciousness, a strong connection to Europe--and it is stronger the more recent the family immigrated. (This does not hold for non-European immigrants, of course.) This tie to Europe is evident in a plethora of ways: in childrens' stories, where the landscape and the animals are European; in the way Christmas is represented with plastic reindeer and fake snow in the middle of summer; and, in the fact that wherever you go in Europe, you'll find an Australian...
Rabbits, foxes, deer, cows, horses...none of these is native to Australia, yet they are formative elements in the Australian child's imagination. Thus, many Australians grow up with a longing for a landscape, and a world, that is definitively different from their own. I may even venture to say that the Australian consciousness is more intimately connected to the European landscape, than it is to the Australian. (There are of course attempts -- in childrens' books, in artworks, etc -- to thematize the Australian flora and fauna and Australian wildlife, and grant them a place in the cultural imagination.)
Europe is at the center of the Australian consciousness, therefore the feeling among some Australians is that they are not at the center.
But what is the "center"? If it is determined by imagination and cultural consciousness, as I think it is, then it is relative. But this thought does not penetrate deeply enough into the logic at play here, the logic at play in the very ideas of "center" and "periphery."
To speak of a center, and to claim that it is out there (whether in Europe or Asia or Uluru), and not here, where I am, is to experience the world from a distance, to experience it from an outsider's perspective, to objectivize it. And this, I think, is at the core of E's thinking. A center that is outside of me, that is other than myself, is a center that is an intractable, infinitely deferred object. It is something I want to own, or to be a part of. But... even if I am at the center (Berlin is E's center), will I ever really be at the center? Or will there always be something more that I want? In other words, it seems to me that the logic of "center" and "periphery" is a logic of objectification and consumption, where the center is made into an object (of desire). But the center is not, cannot be, an object.
What then is the center? This question can be restated: what is place, and how do I relate to the place where I am?
I don't want to discount completely E's complaints, because often enough, we are born into a place, a world, where we are not entirely at home, and travel far before we can find a place where we feel truly at home. And this may be the case with E. But... as a general cultural phenomenon in Australia, the feeling of being on the periphery, being isolated, and E's all too simple negations of Australia as such ("everything" and "all" were often used), the logic at work appears to me to be deeply problematic and insidious.
And so I am brought back to thinking about the idea of center, place, and of the relation between imagination and place. What is a center? Should we speak in such terms at all? What of the relation between a person and a place -- how is it developed?
What is fascinating to me about Australia is that although it is culturally distinct from Europe, it is deeply connected to Europe, and this connection remains unconscious, intimate, immediate -- like an umbilical cord, a source of life. Yet its geographic distance, its vastly different wildlife and landscape, and its ancient inhabitants, make it as different from Europe as is possible. And on top of all of this is the fact that Australia's history remains contemporary: the Aboriginal inhabitants have not just disappeared or been forgotten, and its colonial heritage is clear in, for example, some of its architecture (such as Sydney's terrace houses). The place that is Australia, that has become Australia, poses many questions about place, culture, relation and meaning... Questions that are relevant to most of us, in our super-cosmopolitan world, but here, in a country whose identity continues to be developed and brought into relation with its past, the questions are more present, relevant and significant, making Australia, I think, fertile ground for thinking through the meaning and significance of place...
A Rainbow Lorikeet
E's grievances against Australia are many, but they come down to two key points: Australians are dumb, and Australia is isolated. When I asked her about what Australians thought of Americans, she said that Americans are also dumb, so dumbness is not a particularly Australian attribute. But the isolation seems particular to Australia. "To get to Europe," E bemoaned, "it takes a week of your life, and your life savings!"
This lead me to reflect upon the place and meaning of Australia on the world-stage and in the Australian consciousness. Though most fifth-generation Australians would identify themselves first with Australia, and then maybe with Europe, there remains, in the back of most Australians' consciousness, a strong connection to Europe--and it is stronger the more recent the family immigrated. (This does not hold for non-European immigrants, of course.) This tie to Europe is evident in a plethora of ways: in childrens' stories, where the landscape and the animals are European; in the way Christmas is represented with plastic reindeer and fake snow in the middle of summer; and, in the fact that wherever you go in Europe, you'll find an Australian...
Rabbits, foxes, deer, cows, horses...none of these is native to Australia, yet they are formative elements in the Australian child's imagination. Thus, many Australians grow up with a longing for a landscape, and a world, that is definitively different from their own. I may even venture to say that the Australian consciousness is more intimately connected to the European landscape, than it is to the Australian. (There are of course attempts -- in childrens' books, in artworks, etc -- to thematize the Australian flora and fauna and Australian wildlife, and grant them a place in the cultural imagination.)
Europe is at the center of the Australian consciousness, therefore the feeling among some Australians is that they are not at the center.
But what is the "center"? If it is determined by imagination and cultural consciousness, as I think it is, then it is relative. But this thought does not penetrate deeply enough into the logic at play here, the logic at play in the very ideas of "center" and "periphery."
To speak of a center, and to claim that it is out there (whether in Europe or Asia or Uluru), and not here, where I am, is to experience the world from a distance, to experience it from an outsider's perspective, to objectivize it. And this, I think, is at the core of E's thinking. A center that is outside of me, that is other than myself, is a center that is an intractable, infinitely deferred object. It is something I want to own, or to be a part of. But... even if I am at the center (Berlin is E's center), will I ever really be at the center? Or will there always be something more that I want? In other words, it seems to me that the logic of "center" and "periphery" is a logic of objectification and consumption, where the center is made into an object (of desire). But the center is not, cannot be, an object.
What then is the center? This question can be restated: what is place, and how do I relate to the place where I am?
I don't want to discount completely E's complaints, because often enough, we are born into a place, a world, where we are not entirely at home, and travel far before we can find a place where we feel truly at home. And this may be the case with E. But... as a general cultural phenomenon in Australia, the feeling of being on the periphery, being isolated, and E's all too simple negations of Australia as such ("everything" and "all" were often used), the logic at work appears to me to be deeply problematic and insidious.
And so I am brought back to thinking about the idea of center, place, and of the relation between imagination and place. What is a center? Should we speak in such terms at all? What of the relation between a person and a place -- how is it developed?
What is fascinating to me about Australia is that although it is culturally distinct from Europe, it is deeply connected to Europe, and this connection remains unconscious, intimate, immediate -- like an umbilical cord, a source of life. Yet its geographic distance, its vastly different wildlife and landscape, and its ancient inhabitants, make it as different from Europe as is possible. And on top of all of this is the fact that Australia's history remains contemporary: the Aboriginal inhabitants have not just disappeared or been forgotten, and its colonial heritage is clear in, for example, some of its architecture (such as Sydney's terrace houses). The place that is Australia, that has become Australia, poses many questions about place, culture, relation and meaning... Questions that are relevant to most of us, in our super-cosmopolitan world, but here, in a country whose identity continues to be developed and brought into relation with its past, the questions are more present, relevant and significant, making Australia, I think, fertile ground for thinking through the meaning and significance of place...
A Rainbow Lorikeet
Spider Grevillea
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Two Sides of Australia (part 1)
Yesterday as we crossed the Harbour Bridge, I saw that there were two different flags standing on the top of the bridge. The first was the Australia flag, with the union jack and the southern cross (which, by the way, I saw for the first time this visit last Saturday night); the second was the Aboriginal flag, with black on top, red on the bottom, and a yellow circle in the middle.
I tried to capture the two flags, side by side, but it was windy and cloudy and the photos I took are fuzzy and don't reveal much. So just try to imagine it for yourself: the Harbour Bridge, one of the most iconic structures of modern Australia, with the Opera House at its southern feet, Sydney's hallmark and imprint on the world-stage, upholding these two official flags of Australia, and the various meanings and significance this has and could have. Though the Aboriginal flag is not always standing on the top of the Bridge, next to the common Australia flag, it was up yesterday, a reminder of the age of this land and of the ancient people who trod upon it for thousands of years. And so the two flags displayed, in iconic manner, the two sides of Australia.
On my first winter birthday, last Tuesday, Luke and I visited these two sides, standing side by side, but, it appears to me, overlooking each other. In the morning, we stepped onto the ancient land of Guringai, just north of Syndey in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park.
We began our trip by heading north to West Head, a rock and lookout just outside of Sydney, from where one can see the central coast, Palm Beach (the last northern beach in Sydney) and the Pacific Ocean. Just before the lookout at West Head, a footpath leads you to an ancient aboriginal site, where rock drawings have been found.
As we approached this footpath, we saw that two school busses were parked and children were being huddled to this monument on a school excursion. We continued toward West Head, hoping that by the time we return, the children will have moved on.
Here are some photos from West Head:
Partial views of Lion Island and the Central Coast:
Luke with Palm Beach in the background (the northernmost point of Sydney):
Lion Island:
On our way back, the children had gone, the path was empty, with only a sign indicating that aboriginal drawings have been found here, and an arrow pointing us in the right direction. It was only 400 metres from the entrance to the path, and so we walked slowly, studing the plants around us.
Soon enough, Luke found a small path leading toward rocks. There were no indicators, which was suprising, but I followed. The rocks were large, grayish with pink undertone, but it was hard to make out any drawings on them. They were carved out, however, and these carvings did not appear natural. It looked as though the carvings functioned as water channels. We inspected these rocks and walked through the bush around them, and, in the warmth of the winter sun, I was spellbound. The age of this land does not often enter my mind, the fact that we live in and are surrounded by rocks that were made into water channels thousands of years ago, is absent to my everyday consciousness. But for a short time, as we walked ontop of and around these rocks and studied the ever-blooming plants, their presence did not feel lost.
But this was not enough. We both were dissatisfied with what we'd found: the rocks were carved, but the carvings were not drawings. So we decided to continue on our original path, to see if there may be other, more eloquent carvings that would classify as drawings.
And indeed, within twenty metres, we found what we'd been looking for--and it was marked. On a rose colored rock, there was a sign for Guringai Land (the indigenous people of this area are called the Ku-ring-gai). Without knowing much about the land, or the people who once inhabited it, we entered the area.
It was more than anything I'd expected. I hadn't seen any ancient drawings before, but these petroglyphs are so clear, so well-preserved, that I was surprised by how easy they are to spot and to grasp... there were images of human beings, of animals (many Kangaroo), of fish (the ocean is nearby) and of the activities of hunting and fishing.
(There are many more drawings...)
When I researched the dates of these drawings, I discovered that very little is known about them, and that the present techniques of dating cannot establish with any accuracy their time-line. The guess, however, is that they may be anywhere from 20,000 to 10,000 years old. What is so astounding to me, is how little information there is, or has been found, about the people of this region. Though there is greater awareness, I think, of the indigenous people in the Australian cultural consciousness than there is of the American natives in the US (my sense), there remains much that is unknown, and possibly forever lost.
And so I delved into a book of aboriginal myths last week, not with the eyes of the inspecting anthropologist, but with the eyes of someone who wants to connect to, or find some way by which to come to understand, the people who once lived here. More on this in posts to follow...
For now, I will just say that while in the morning we experienced (in a very limited sense) the ancient history of this land, in the afternoon, we experienced (in a much more direct and stronger sense) an other side of Australia: its colonial heritage. For lunch, we went to a British-style country club with a golf course and manicured lawns! Luke's step-grandmother, who is best described by the word 'magical,' chose this location for its wonderful views of the water.
So we traversed the day from the ancient petroglyphs of the Kuringai people to 19th century British (colonial) culture, and this was, in a revealing way I think, disorienting! On the two sides of the Australian continent, we spent my first winter Birthday :)
I tried to capture the two flags, side by side, but it was windy and cloudy and the photos I took are fuzzy and don't reveal much. So just try to imagine it for yourself: the Harbour Bridge, one of the most iconic structures of modern Australia, with the Opera House at its southern feet, Sydney's hallmark and imprint on the world-stage, upholding these two official flags of Australia, and the various meanings and significance this has and could have. Though the Aboriginal flag is not always standing on the top of the Bridge, next to the common Australia flag, it was up yesterday, a reminder of the age of this land and of the ancient people who trod upon it for thousands of years. And so the two flags displayed, in iconic manner, the two sides of Australia.
On my first winter birthday, last Tuesday, Luke and I visited these two sides, standing side by side, but, it appears to me, overlooking each other. In the morning, we stepped onto the ancient land of Guringai, just north of Syndey in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park.
We began our trip by heading north to West Head, a rock and lookout just outside of Sydney, from where one can see the central coast, Palm Beach (the last northern beach in Sydney) and the Pacific Ocean. Just before the lookout at West Head, a footpath leads you to an ancient aboriginal site, where rock drawings have been found.
As we approached this footpath, we saw that two school busses were parked and children were being huddled to this monument on a school excursion. We continued toward West Head, hoping that by the time we return, the children will have moved on.
Here are some photos from West Head:
Partial views of Lion Island and the Central Coast:
Luke with Palm Beach in the background (the northernmost point of Sydney):
Lion Island:
On our way back, the children had gone, the path was empty, with only a sign indicating that aboriginal drawings have been found here, and an arrow pointing us in the right direction. It was only 400 metres from the entrance to the path, and so we walked slowly, studing the plants around us.
Soon enough, Luke found a small path leading toward rocks. There were no indicators, which was suprising, but I followed. The rocks were large, grayish with pink undertone, but it was hard to make out any drawings on them. They were carved out, however, and these carvings did not appear natural. It looked as though the carvings functioned as water channels. We inspected these rocks and walked through the bush around them, and, in the warmth of the winter sun, I was spellbound. The age of this land does not often enter my mind, the fact that we live in and are surrounded by rocks that were made into water channels thousands of years ago, is absent to my everyday consciousness. But for a short time, as we walked ontop of and around these rocks and studied the ever-blooming plants, their presence did not feel lost.
But this was not enough. We both were dissatisfied with what we'd found: the rocks were carved, but the carvings were not drawings. So we decided to continue on our original path, to see if there may be other, more eloquent carvings that would classify as drawings.
And indeed, within twenty metres, we found what we'd been looking for--and it was marked. On a rose colored rock, there was a sign for Guringai Land (the indigenous people of this area are called the Ku-ring-gai). Without knowing much about the land, or the people who once inhabited it, we entered the area.
(There are many more drawings...)
When I researched the dates of these drawings, I discovered that very little is known about them, and that the present techniques of dating cannot establish with any accuracy their time-line. The guess, however, is that they may be anywhere from 20,000 to 10,000 years old. What is so astounding to me, is how little information there is, or has been found, about the people of this region. Though there is greater awareness, I think, of the indigenous people in the Australian cultural consciousness than there is of the American natives in the US (my sense), there remains much that is unknown, and possibly forever lost.
And so I delved into a book of aboriginal myths last week, not with the eyes of the inspecting anthropologist, but with the eyes of someone who wants to connect to, or find some way by which to come to understand, the people who once lived here. More on this in posts to follow...
For now, I will just say that while in the morning we experienced (in a very limited sense) the ancient history of this land, in the afternoon, we experienced (in a much more direct and stronger sense) an other side of Australia: its colonial heritage. For lunch, we went to a British-style country club with a golf course and manicured lawns! Luke's step-grandmother, who is best described by the word 'magical,' chose this location for its wonderful views of the water.
So we traversed the day from the ancient petroglyphs of the Kuringai people to 19th century British (colonial) culture, and this was, in a revealing way I think, disorienting! On the two sides of the Australian continent, we spent my first winter Birthday :)
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Coldest Day in Sydney in 61 Years!
Yesterday, the 30th of June, Sydney endured its coldest day in 61 years! In the afternoon, we went to Manly Beach, and at a coffee shop (aptly called Barefoot Coffee -- see below), we listened to the gregarious customers explain why the shop was half empty: everyone was afraid of the cold.
But was it really so cold? We walked on the Manly Corso and then partook of the Manly health-craze by running along Manly Beach up to Shelley Beach. The scenes were telling of anything but winter... Hardly comparable to the cold of the Northern hemisphere...!
At Barefoot Coffee in Manly:
And on the Manly Corso:
Never too cold to go into the surf:
We love Bare Feet!!!
But was it really so cold? We walked on the Manly Corso and then partook of the Manly health-craze by running along Manly Beach up to Shelley Beach. The scenes were telling of anything but winter... Hardly comparable to the cold of the Northern hemisphere...!
At Barefoot Coffee in Manly:
And on the Manly Corso:
Never too cold to go into the surf:
We love Bare Feet!!!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
From shorts and t-shirts to woolly jumpers
Cold, but not terribly. And there are flowers in bloom, even daisies. Black (aka green) tomatoes are still in season, and almost all produce is local (including pineapple and coconut). This is Sydney in winter!
Luke at the produce market yesterday...
daisies in winter
From Brisbane we took a quick flight to Sydney, that stayed close to the ground. The landscape altered dramatically from southern Queensland, where it was hilly, rocky, and tended to be dry and sandy, to southern New South Wales, which was green, filled with trees and much less rocky. We landed beautifully into Botany Bay, where Captain Cook first landed...
Here is a view of Sydney from the airplane. You can see the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.
And in the early morning, I woke to the loud, boisterous, silly sounds of a kookaburra. It was much more than I'd expected: very musical, but also thorny. You can find the kookaburra sound here.
Luke at the produce market yesterday...
daisies in winter
We arrived in the Brisbane Airport, with its spotless international terminal, to a grand surprise: Australia has a new prime minister, and it is a woman. The first female prime minister took office as we were flying over the Pacific ocean, and in the Airport, we read all about it.
What is amazing, and possibly impossible in the US, is that Julia Gillard is unmarried, and her boyfriend will be the world's "first boyfriend," or in Australian, "first bloke." Born in Wales, Gillard's upward movement in Australia gives me hope -- you don't have to be born here in order to become prime minister.
From Brisbane we took a quick flight to Sydney, that stayed close to the ground. The landscape altered dramatically from southern Queensland, where it was hilly, rocky, and tended to be dry and sandy, to southern New South Wales, which was green, filled with trees and much less rocky. We landed beautifully into Botany Bay, where Captain Cook first landed...
Here is a view of Sydney from the airplane. You can see the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.
We were greeted by a mild wintery day, with grey clouds and an arch of blue in the sky.
the harbour bridge
At Luke's parents' home, the first thing I saw was a large spider hanging right outside the living room window.
the harbour bridge
driving on the bridge, on the left side
At Luke's parents' home, the first thing I saw was a large spider hanging right outside the living room window.
And in the early morning, I woke to the loud, boisterous, silly sounds of a kookaburra. It was much more than I'd expected: very musical, but also thorny. You can find the kookaburra sound here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
