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 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!

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!

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).

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?

"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

Spider Grevillea

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 :)

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!!!