Sunday, February 25, 2024

Australia Day 2024 - Murray Bridge...Is it a holiday destination? Yes.


 
For Australia Day 2024, we’re doing things backwards. 

 Instead of exploring the council area after Australia Day, we’re doing a pre-immersion to achieve a greater depth of familiarity. This is a first, but it makes sense.

My 2024 allocation is Murray Bridge; we South Australians all know Murray Bridge. It is a pioneer landmark town where the main town road crosses the river on a beaut old bridge, the Murray Bridge. Everyone’s been over it and many under it since the1800s.But...if you say you’re heading to MB for your holidays, people will probably guffaw. It’s been known as a tough town. Few would cite it as a "destination". It’s a place you pass through.

Should it be?

So, here's the blog. If it seems long, it is only to give it chronology in one hit, since blogger is a bit perverse like that.

Most significantly, Murray Bridge is Ngarrindjeri country and its First Nations name is Pomberbuk. Ngarrindjeri have dwelt along the river for thousands of years.



Saturday 20th January


And off up the freeway we skim. Destination is not Murray Bridge itself but the nearby Riverglen Marina and a moored houseboat called Ark-imedes.

I found it via booking.com as I was exploring the possibilities for MB as a holiday destination.We find the marina gate with Ark-imides keys in a locked box outside high, secure fencing. Heavens. It is a securely fenced off location. 



Therein, with struggling green lawns on the shore, myriad houseboats abound. The Ark is one of the smallest  houseboats moored here, it turns out, and quite  unremarkable from the shore. But, over the wobbly gangplank it opens up to reveal a totally chic, modern home for two. Yes, it is accommodation just for two. No kids. No pets. 


 

It features two giant basket hanging egg chairs on the deck out front looking onto a very wide section of the mighty old river.  It’s a pea soup greenish brown old waterway.

We have booked two nights here.
Just to give a taste of what the Murray Bridge region has to offer. 


Across the water, there is a rural landscape. It is all so beautiful that even the giant electricity pylon out there stands as a beauty, a skeletal Carnivale figure with her flared skirt.
I sink into one of the egg chairs and begin a reverie which is to consume many blissful hours. This is not like me. It is like the river. It is what the river does.
There is a strong wind. There’s a chop in the water. The houseboat rocks. 

It is not hard to settle in. The Ark is exquisitely appointed with good luggage storage space well designated and artfully hidden behind the bed.



There is a brilliant woven hanging light with a dimmer to provide a safe night light for oldies such as us. There’s another low nightlight outside the bathroom. The lovely bathroom has a window to a soft willow world.

Bruce starts to cook dinner. The kitchen is beautifully equipped and it is not long before delicious scents waft out towards the river.


Three swans arrive. They look expectant. I take a photo. It’s not what they’re after. They swim away disdainfully.
Later, I discover the swan food, thoughtfully left in a labelled jar in the condiments drawer in the kitchen. Cornflakes.

 There’s tinned corn for fishing, too.  The swans don’t go hungry again. Swans are regular visitors to the assorted moored houseboats in the marina. There are ducks, too, and darling little Eurasian coots which are interesting birds in that they hate to fly. Over our time on the Ark, I become fascinated and charmed by these waterbirds.
Lolling at ease in my egg chair, birdwatching is a feast of fascination.
This is a very wide stretch of bending river.

When there are no watercraft, the fish make their presence felt, jumping in golden arcs from the water. Their splashes are a music all of their own. Occasionally, I hear a cow lowing from a distant pasture. Reverie,



Big sky. Big water. Big landscape.
I realise that I am whiling away hours here. I am totally in the moment, at one with the river. I realise that I have never ever let go of the busy business in my brain like this before. I am here, now…genuinely relaxed.
It is an experience in itself.

I beam out my gratitude to the Ark’s owners, Kristen and Shaun, for creating and sharing their piece of paradise.


Meanwhile, Bruce eschews the sun and the hot deck, reading and doing his NY Times crosswords inside. He is content.

And so 48 hours meander by. I enjoy the river traffic. The waterskiiers of varying skills. A clever wake rider. A boat playing music. Not even the jet skiiers annoy me. They are just wanton and silly with nowhere to go,

racing each other, splashing in spins…so pointless and mindless. Shallow people. We are equipped with two moored kayaks, but, nah… 


 

I have a ‘Tiser review book and it is called The River. It is set on this very river.
Another serendipity.




We have gin and tonics with lots of fresh lime. Ice is in short supply. Oh, well. We are disinclined to get into the car to go hunting for ice. Make do.
Snack. Sip. See. Rock.

We talk about the river and its abundance of thriving nature, about the history of willlow trees and how useful they have been for houseboats, albeit an invasive species decried by many. I tell Bruce of the wooden boats people and of going on River Rambles on the historic Winsom Dora Basset with my friends, Bruce and Ros, of people falling in the river, of snakes swimming across the river...


One reason why I never cared to swim in the river, I say. Bruce is fascinated by the idea of the snakes so it is jaw-droppingly co-incidental that I see a young snake weaving its way through the water right towards us. Sleek swimmers are snakes. It goes straight under the deck of the Ark. We imagine it is seeking dry land on the grassy bank so we go out and door and look among the willow tree roots on the marina, No sign.  A young tiger snake we later learn


By night two, our new ice has frozen. Aaah.


After our easy home-cooked dinners, we walk the marina which features a large inlet and  we look at the diversity of moored craft, old and new, big and little… Lazy walks.

The little TV room is snug and the TV is excellent.  So is the bed.
The Ark is a hard place to leave.
 

Monday 22 January


Checkout is 11. We enjoy a last Ark breakfast and languid shower before packing up and crossing the gangplank to the car.  Aaah. This has been sublime. We shall return.

We have time to kill before checkin at The Bridgeport in Murray Bridge so we drive over to dear old Mannum.


Mannum Falls? How come I have never been there? We turn off to admire the most outstandingly dramatic landscapes of huge rounded, ancient boulders.

We take the low road to the Falls and there is a view point. There must be a high road. We continue on and there it is, leading to a carpark overlooking a great rocky valley and the great rocky outcrops which feature the falls.  It is quite a trek to get there. We set out and immediately skip and slither on the dry stony path. Nup. This ain’t for oldies. We relish it as a fabulous view, instead.


Mannum is unchanged. It seems a lifetime since we were here, but it is still just dear Mannum.  It has a stately history as an early river boat dock in the days when the river transported cargos on paddle steamers. We have oft recalled those days in books and film. Thinking of Max Fatchen, of course, and The River Kings. The town, built with a steep cliff-side backdrop, retains an historic character with some elegant colonial buildings along the main street - and nice shops and cafes with shady verandahs.

We roll into the pub and get a pleasant booth table on the upper deck, looking down over the lawn tables and picnickers and, of course, the wide old Murray,



B orders Caesar salad and I order Asian prawn salad. The prawns come out crumbed and deep fried fanned out over the salad. I am horrified. B generously swaps with me. It ain’t great food but it is nice here. We walk down to the river’s edge where there is a tall marker pole illustrating the heights of the floods.

Mannum is still recovering from the 2023 flood. We think that was bad. But 1956? Inconceivable.

Across the road, the handsome old Mannum Institute building is open.

In the museum room a large group of senior Mannum ladies were meeting around a long table.  “It’s OK, come on in,” they urge as we stand tentative at the door. I’m glad we did. The photos and records of the town’s flood history are  fascinating. One of the women leaves the table and comes to explain a few factors and show us the big laminated poster illustrating a century of rainfalls across the country. There were some nasty years long ago. Who knows what is coming? Riverside life will always hang on the whims of climate and the fates and flows upstream.


I cannot resist the Mannum hospital fundraiser shop right there on the way up hill back to the car.  What an Aladdin’s cave of home preserves! Lots of knitting and simple quilting. Lots of good spirit and care. Delightful shop. I buy some lavender bags.

Back in Murray Bridge we check in to the Bridgeport.  Our room on the fourth floor is just perfect. I had heard that the community was not happy about the redevelopment of the beloved old country Bridgeport hotel into huge five-star modern accommodation. But those developers got it right.
One side of the hotel offers balcony suites looking towards the river.The other to the town.


Our river view suite is, of course, facing the river. And there it is, a great greenish brown water passage between fields and farms and homes and marinas up stream. And the two mighty bridges - the recently revamped road bridge where the cars cross at respectful slow pace and the railway bridge, the wonderful ancient railway bridge where goods trains and the famous old Melbourne Overland Express cross the river .  We have a nice little table and chairs on the balcony to enjoy this.
The room offers an ample sofa and coffee table and a good desk and work chair along with a lovely big

king bed and side tables. Good plugs for technical electrics.
Bathroom sink  is black and raised and at the end of a generous cosmetics space with mirror on a big sliding wall …so the bathroom and living are linked…and, as it turns out, one can have the slider door open and enjoy a view of the river from the shower.  Yes!
An opaque glass slider also encloses the shower and loo, both of which are spacious.
Then there’s the luggage bench, the safe and hanging space and kitchen strip with kettle space and, oh no, what??? Instant Nescafe sachets? Nescafe? Ugh. I have to run out and buy coffee bags instantly.



The coffee is the one and only shortcoming of this gorgeous hotel room which features also a quality TV with all the streaming options.

For our first night, B mixes our cocktails which we drink with snacks on the balcony, revelling in the view. I feel as if I have my own train set down there. I always wanted a train set.
We book a table downstairs for dinner, sitting outside on the patio and watching immense plates of naughty fried goodies being delivered to a table of fit young men.
We oldies are more prudent with our food. We share a starter of corn ribs which are very much the chic thing these days,,, after which I have crispy salmon which comes on puree cauli and melted fennel. It is sublime. I purr with pleasure,

Tuesday 23 Jan

Room service breakfast. Poached eggs. Bliss.

And down to the infinity pool on the first floor.  Mountains of clean towels are waiting in the gym room. The water feels cold at first and then gorgeous. A brisk wind spits light spray. I am the only swimmer.  Swim, gaze at view, swim, gaze at view. Look down into the street at people going into the shopping centre. Do some aquarobics.
There is a bar by the pool But, of course, not as a morning thing. Just another fun facility to this excellent hotel.

I have a lunch date with Peri Strathearn, editor of The Murray Bridge News.  I’ve subscribed to his online paper since it began and have, like so many in the

media industry, been a hug admirer of Strathearn for this brave enterprise which sprang from a time of crisis in the rural media, not to mention covid.
A handsome young man turns up. A modest young man. He is a little embarrassed at my praise. Lunch service is slow since, at the eleventh hour, the kitchen realises it has no aubergine, which is what I had ordered for lunch.  But it is all the more time for conversation and learning about MB where Peri has now lived happily with his family for twelve years.  He has expanded from the online paper to magazine production and has two glossy periodicals out on the streets.
He says he has had splendid support from the MB community, albeit the paper desperately needs more advertising. He has become further entrenched in the MB world by taking on whatever roles he can for the Community organisation. He is a doer and a mover and MB is lucky to have his like.

Peter Goers has told me that visiting the MB town hall is a must because it is such a brilliant theatre.


I tell Peri and he immediately offers to take me across the road to make it happen. It is a stinking hot day. Not even a blowfly is moving in the main street. But it is cool and easy in the town hall where Shannon Holmes, the manager of the MB Town Hall Performing Arts and Function Centre, kindly opens up and turns on the auditorium lights to show what a sleek, well-equipped and sophisticated venue it is. I am duly impressed. 


  It has a busy program of events year round and right now is revving up for the Fringe Festival.

 I’m keen to see the art gallery, too. 

Easy peasy, says Peri. 

And I’m led through the theatre and several doors and suddenly we are right in the gallery. 

They are neighbours, both of them run and owned by the council with a big emphasis on community wellbeing. 


I’ve been to the gallery before. I opened a show there many years ago. Loved it then and a really impressed now. Not only does it have an Annabelle Collette retrospective of ReDress, stunning costumes and works, but also Botanical Armour by Samuel Mulcahy, an artist from Clayton Bay who was mentored by the aforementioned Annabelle Collette. 

His is a collection of metal sculptures of such delicacy and originality that I almost run out of superlatives.  They’re all made from junk.  Peri says that someone anonymously left a box of bullet shells on the artist’s doorstep one day, knowing that he’d find a use for them. And there they are…FLOWERS. Australian native blooms, Great big plants of extreme delicacy and detail.

I do a lot of swooning. 


Michelle Dohnt and Fulvia Montelli in the gallery  tell of the changing programs of works and the upcoming Rotary show. The gallery takes no commission on anything. It is entirely funded by the council. Extraordinary.
 

 

Back in the gorgeous Bridgeport, we take out cocktails to the balcony where the heat is tolerable and the view fantastic and choose to luxuriate in a room service dinner.



Tuesday 24th

Now it is suddenly cold. I brave the pool.


 It is decidedly brisk. And I go downstairs to meet a particualrly special young woman who has been introduced by our actor/critic, geologist, and friend David Grybowski from  his hospital bed in the RAH. He is recovering from a serious bike accident. And thinking of me and Murray Bridge and helping my quest for backgrounding, She likes her privacy so I am not using her name. She is a single mum, a care worker and mother of an austistic son. She’s as as smart as she is beautiful, auburn hair, tats and piercings. A modern woman. She has actually managed to buy her own house in MB, had to do a lot of reno and, rightly, she is very proud and very happy. She was born in MB and chose to return there after years in the city. She gives me a deep and very positive grounding in what it is like to live in MB. She has a lot of good to say for MB and, when I raise the hoary old subject of drugs and MB’s reputation for meth, she responds, as did Peri, that it is no worse than any community where poverty is an issue and is less prevalent these days. Her one criticism is for rehab of young offenders on release from jail. Attention to this would help a lot, she says.
Like Peri, she says she has had no personal run-ins with the reputed social problems of MB. She is happy with schools and facilities, the sense of community and the ease of living away from a big city. Like Peri, she says moving to MB was the best decision she had made.
I loved meeting her and could have talked all day.


Right across the road from the hotel is the MB Mall, a really decent stretch of shopping and a good little food court.

Why is there such a queue at the Chinese self-serve? Well, it turns out to be the best food court Chinese I have ever encountered. Every dish is stunning, The garlic fish is sensational.


Indeed, our food experiences in MB have been uniformly good.
The Indian/Italian Mustard Seed restaurant located at the end of the mall serves us a meal of exquisitely complex and authentic flavours. 


There’s a liquor store adjacent to the hotel, too. Therein the chatty assistant introduces me to the local product which, of course, I’m keen to support. I love a gin and tonic. MB’s Downstream Gin turns out to have a striking character all of its own, so much so that I return to buy a second bottle to take back to town.  Full marks, MB.

Meanwhile, I use all the good things I have learned on my Murray Bridge "immersion" to add substance to my Australia Day speech and the wonderful Bridgeport kindly prints out my it out  for me.

We sleep beautifully in Room 411’s high-quality bed.

25th January

A grey day dawns with rain in the forecast.
And we have to change hotels. The MB Council has assigned me as Australia Day Ambassador a room in the old Murray Bridge Hotel.


According to its website, it is famous for good food and it features lovely renovated rooms opening up onto its classic country balcony.  I’ve stayed in such country pubs before and, although loathe to leave the Bridgeport, I am keen to get a taste of olde worlde MB.

So, after another gorgeous room service breakfast, we do the packing chore, are kindly given a late checkout, and head off to do some exploring. Murray Bridge brags lots of stunning parks and it is all true. Fabulous impeccably-maintained parks. Picnic heaven. We head down to the riverside parklands to watch young men fishing - and catching the carp that are the menace of the Murray. There is a bin provided in which fishermen are advised to discard them. Not today. There is a greedy cormorant hanging out for a feed. The fisherman proffers a second one. He swallows it whole, so full that he almost sinks when he returns to the water.

There is another beast to be met on the Murray. The Bunyip.

I had promised Bruce this cultural treat. It is housed in a cage so it can't get away. A great big mythical monster.  And there is its cage. It is in there under the water. I press a button and it rears up with a deafening roar. Deafening!

Kitsch is not in it. This is pure Aussie cornball. Much laughter.

We've had an eye on a fantastic nature trail on the edge of town. 


Lovely strings of lakes and an island retreat for a huge flock of pelicans. The


walking trail takes one right down beside the big new Thomas Farms Abattoir, one of the things which have helped to save MB, albeit I’m told, employing far fewer locals than the town had hoped.


We find an embankment path around the lakes which had been closed thanks to floods and it makes a decent-length of walk. 

The most astounding ant colonies are all long the path - and they are busy ants.  We see a big native Rakali diving under water. What a big, sturdy tail. It makes


for a very satisfactory nature studies thrill of the day. 

There are lovely marsh grasses, samphire, wildflowers, gum blossoms and places to sit and gaze. And there are the pelicans. If there is one thing I love, it is pelicans.

  It is all very pleasant indeed.


Just as we can see the end of the trail, the rain begins. Phew.


I call the Murray Bridge  hotel to see if we can check in early since the rain looks like setting in. 

"Any time after 12.15 says the receptionist."

So, off we go.

Lots of stairs, I worry about lugging my luggage  up them all.

To cut a long story short, we do not lug the luggage up them. Dear old country pub it may be. But, sadly, my assigned room is not only oddly spartan but reminiscent of  Death of a Salesman. Not at all like the room on the hotel website.

 

 It is more of a museum  piece. It is really spacious.  Except for the little lavatory cubicle behind a door...  which has a shower crammed in it.  Amazing.
 

But not for us on my "2024 MB as a holiday destination" mission. We return keys to the woman in the office who seems completely unsurprised. I ring the Bridgeport which kindly finds us a last-minute room on the 3rd floor.  I drop an embarrassed note to the MB Council informing them that I am not at the place they have provided for me.


Back at the beautiful Bridgeport, I settle on the little balcony and watch the weather while getting on with running thru my speech, which now feels alive with the freshness of my experiences of “Murray Bridge as a holiday  destination”.  Er, not mentioning,  let alone recommending the hotel so bewilderingly offered by the Council.




It pretty much rains all day, The landscape is soaking it up gratefully but I go out with my brolly to do my MB shopping.
Special gifts from the Gallery shop.  Lovely Ngarrindjeri basket weaving for cat-sitting Merry and some amazing art earrings, all exquisitely gift wrapped for me.
I walk the town and find the MB Information centre and pay it a visit, chatting to the volunteers who are pretty much in a world of their own. It is a beaut place. I buy some local almonds and a postcard and ask for directions to Edwards Park where the Aus Day event is being held and then walk up in the rain to check it out. The Cottage Chocolate shop is a MB MUST. It is one of the best chocolate shops in the country. I stock up on gift boxes and repair back to the Bridgeport.


Usually, on the night before AusDay, we are invited to dinner to meet the mayor and CEO of whichever rural town I’m allocated. This is my 13th AusDay and the first time I am not meeting the mayor.



Instead, we sit on the balcony with G&Ts and snacks and give cheers to that lovely local Downstream gin. And we order in another gorgeous room service repast from the Bridgeport. 

Just loving this hotel. It certainly is a "destination" in itself. And, I've been talking to people I've met in the reception area. We're all impressed. Some are already on return visits. I reckon we might return here, too - so close to Adelaide and yet a world away.






Friday January 26.  AUSTRALIA DAY



What a glorious dawn! 

The rain has stopped but it is way cooler than I had anticipated.  I’ll freeze in the light black slacks I packed for the Day. Reluctantly, I don my jeans and an ensemble of warm blues.

We’re too early for the gorgeous room service brekky and AusDay always features eggs and bacon so we head for the park.
It is not 7.30am but the park is really busy and all the chairs laid out in front of the stage are already occupied.

I go to the Citizens’ Registration desk and ask if anyone can identify the mayor for me. A besuited gentleman standing there says, yes, he can. He says he is the Deputy Mayor.  His name turns out to be Tim Vonderwall’

Bruce finds himself a damp wooden bench at the perimeter of the park and I follow Tim to be introduced to the mayor. Wayne Thorley.



Big fellow. Loud guffaw. I am introduced. “You’ve got five minutes,” he barks, “I may take longer,” I laugh. “Where will I be sitting?” He points to chairs set on the stage and returns to talking to some men beside him.

I recognise a friendly face in Ben McMahon, photographer and partner of my old colleague, journalist Katie Spain, and excuse myself.

I potter around and take snaps for my Australia Day Council report and, of course, for Twitter, or should I say X. There's a beaut town band. The Rotary


and Lions volunteers are serving breakfasts. Even pancakes. I go for bacon and egg and pop my coins in the tin.


When events are about to begin, I’m shown some chairs which have just been placed on the side of the audience and I sit, gratefully. Young cadets perform a lovely flag raising. The community band plays the National Anthem. The mayor opens things up and has a pretty decent speech. Tim Vonderwall, then reads an introduction to me.  Very nicely. I’m chuffed. I have to walk across the front of the audience to get to the ramp and lectern and, worried about keeping the speech to five minutes, I jettison my notes and extemporise.




It comes easily since it is coming from the heart and it is a bounty of freshness.  A paeon to MB, hot off the "immersion" experience.


More or less, this is what I said:

The Honourable Mayor, councillors, politicians, wonderful agricultrural, river, meat, and office workers of MB.

We are on the Pomberuk land of the Ngarrindjeri people, paying respect to first nations elders past present and future…and it makes me feel so comfortable, the way in  which the Ngarrindjeri are acknowledged in MB.
In this, it is a community way ahead of the curve. Even in the


hotel lifts there’s acknowledgement to the First Nations….


We Australia Day Ambassadors are drawn from people who have been outstanding in all sorts of different paths in life…from police and army to theatre and radio.
Mine path is media
 Yes…50 years. I’ve been in the journalism game for  half a century. It has been a wonderful career and of course I have a profound love of the written word and the tradition of the newspaper - and the spreading of news….something which truly holds communities together and one of the things for which MB may be so very proud. I wave the flag to Peri Strathearn and that excellent paper of which I have been s subscriber since he got it up and running.

Murray Bridge News is a real flag for this city to fly.


Peri Strathearn has earned a lot of kudos in the journalism world. What he has done has made him a bit of a hero - and MB seems to have recognised this, cos he told me that he has had the most magnificent support and acceptance and and feels truly embedded raising his kids here.  He wouldn’t mind a few more advertisers  in the paper, tho…

I spent some time with a single mum here yesterday. She was born here. Like most people in MB, she has tats. Fabulous tats. My golly there is some stunning tat art here…It’s Tat City.
This single mum has been able to buy her own home here, albeit she had to do a lot of reno. She loves this place to bits. She is happy with schooling and community life, she tipped me off on restaurants and volunteers spirit and the community…she loves the sense of community, is empowered by it.


This country has just come through some strange and rocky times. Murray Bridge is no exception. MB has overcome a lot over the years and its knockers have a lot to account for.
Most of them have never been here. They have just passed through.
But now I have really BEEN to Murray Bridge, spent a week around the place meeting people and seeing what has been done here, anyone who has a go at this town will have me to deal with.


I won't hear a word against this place.

Suddenly, I am not just an Australia Day Ambassador! I’m a self-appointed MB ambassador…
Great accommodation. Great food. Great people. OMG, the parks!
Did I mention the river?



Two days on a moored houseboat made me more relaxed than I’ve ever been in my life.


Then there’s that fantastic theatre and library and what a sensational gallery!

If you haven’t seen the exhibition in there at the moment, get there…not just the glorious fashions of Annabelle Collette, my old friend, but the Botanical Armour of Samuel Mulcahey…Sublime…I have never seen anything so delicate in metal sculpture, ever….and much of it made with bullets.




But everything comes back to the he river, the lure and beauty of the river. The history. The lives. The preciousness of water. The importance of flow…the mighty Murray….It  reigns high in our history and literature. Max Fatchen, my dear friend and colleague, left a mark…River Kings.

 Talking of oldies….the MB Citizen of the Year
Sandra Walding is one of those volunteers who helps the lives of older people…I have an early connection with Meals on Wheels  and I actually met Doris Taylor when I was a gal.
Onya Sandra. Salt of the earth.

 


Community Event of the Year
The Rockleigh 105 / Gravel Fest for the weekend of gravel and mountain bike event sounds amazing and, oh, good onto The Hub. Food security is ace - and, by the way, I was impressed to see a food donation point in the mall here.
 
We Australia Day Ambassadors get to meet and appreciate these volunteers every year, and to cherish what community really means, as does this excellent Council, I believe.

Our official job is to give a viewpoint to the day.

Australia Day….people keep asking if we are going to change the date but the government has said no, at this stage.
It will remain controversial which is nothing new. It’s been bumpy since NSW decreed that it would be on the day of the landing of the first fleet in NSW now a seen as the day Australia ditched its English apron string….
The arguments are so NOT NEW.
it took until 1935 even to agree on the name Australia Day - and 1946 for the country to agree on a day.
It as 1994 when it was agreed to be a national celebration…
It will evolve.
It is evolving.
I was never mad on the date because it honours NSW and offends our first nations people.
But I am mad on A DAY!!!
…a day to puff out our chests and be glad of this country, this big, wide, diverse country, this sweet homeland with its …well, it was brought hone to me when my mother was in hospital and fussing around her was a united nations of nurses ands carers…and they don’t need much prompting to tell us how good our country is…landscape, lifestyle, people, wine…the air….but most importantly, whatever our politics, we live in a country and raise our children without FEAR.

———————
———
I throw in a couple of quick jokes to get a laugh but the biggest laugh had come when I dubbed the town “Tat City”.

The applause is warm and fulsome! Phew. I went over. 

It's a substantial ceremony with lots of new citizens.

The local MP, Tony Pasin, gives a splendid and rousing speech. He is good at his job.I have heard him before. At Mil Lel, I think, another gorgeous Australia Day celebration. I loved it there. What a divine  mayor. Australia Day has taken me all over this state. I have met some extraordinary people on some of the councils. Cleve, last year, stands out because of the exciting ag science bent. Ceduna was interesting because the Mayor had to run off to save a wayward boat during the ceremony. Coober Pedy was special because of the darling old Indigenous women I was able to spend time with - and the amazing hospitality. Elliston was significant, not only because the mayor remains my friend to this day but because, as I discovered in my research on it, Elliston is probably the only town in the world named after a woman writer. Ellen Liston.  I am just so proud of that!

Every Australia Day allocation offers a new richness,

It is true about the tats. These MB people are an art exhibition on legs, a constant parade of magnificent designs. If I was a marketer in 2024, I'd be promoting MB as "Tat City".  Tats no longer are a negative symbol. They are art. 

People say to me "don't comment on people's tats". I always do. No one has ever been other than happy that I have. I am fascinated by their choices and by the artists who realise them on skin. If I was doing newspaper columns today, as I used to do in the 'Tiser, I'd be suggesting a "Tat of the Week" feature.

Murray Bridge, you shine.

Sadly, and for the first time in 13 rural Australia Days, I was not asked to join in for the official photos with the mayor and the winners. So I have none to show here. However, a paper thankyou bag was popped down beside my chair.
I notice that the Murray Bridge News ran a snippet on my speech and a photo of me giving it.
But there were lots of people crowding around me with congratulations and stories to tell after the ceremony so it was a while before we could leave the park. And some of the people in the street actualy shouted  out to say how they loved the speech.  Really heart-warming.

And that is the whole point of what we Australia Day Ambassadors are here to do.

This one had a fabulous time getting to know MB and, it is quite true, I won’t hear a bad word about the place - albeit that old pub needs to modernise Room 16.























Monday, October 23, 2023

Part 2 - The Great promised Hawaiian Harris Holiday (Read Part 1 below)

 

 
Day 9 (Tuesday) Last resort day

Bruce is suffering bad bursitis, He had a really bad night. Damn. His facility for lugging luggage is compromised. Worry.
No one is hungry for the big breakfast. There is leftover  pizza which B wants.  American strawberries and Blackberries which Sa bought at Target - fascinated to find that they are all Driscolls. Driscoll has a world monopoly on berries? Yes it does. The company, Google tells her, began 100 years ago in California and has grown with intentions of being the world’s berry suppliers to have farms throughout the world, all over the US, Europe, South America, Australia… And it has high-profile active policies on modern slavery and human trafficking which, apparently, has been an issue in the world of corporate pickers. 
In our little daily world. the days have been starting with CNN coverage of the Hamas/Israeli horrors. 
Well, maybe not for Ru and Ro, TikTok burbles away with its own information sources.
We go down for a morning sun and swim, like proper resort people.


 We’ve given up on the lagoon. It just does not invite and initial plans to occupy the giant inflatable paddle swan have been dissected to a sense of “blah, you can paddleboat anywhere”. $60 US is saved. We go across the swinging bridge to our fave bit of pool, which is not where the girls do their night swims. But it is relatively peaceul if you don’t count the construction work on the water slide. 



 
The Rs go up to the room after a while and Sa reads her battered Hawaii book before we all meet at the cafe by the dolpin pool. The girls had shown little interest in hands-on dolphin activities and we’ve seen a lot of it from the shore. It has been getting our hackles up a bit.




 So many ga-ga girl trainers whooping when their dolphins do tricks for the customers. The dolpins have decent space but they are definitely prisoners kept in the name of the tourist dollar. For the girls’ age group, they charge up to $1000 for a day’s activities with the animals and trainers. The in-pool encounters seem to consist of getting the dolphins to swim upside down in front of the customers who are encouraged to feel the dolphins’ undersides with their hands. There are diverse reactions from the humans and a lot of whoopee from the trainers. The hotel publicity insists the dolphins are an imporant research project.  Cynical Sa is feeling less and less comfortable. Then, she meets a visiting vet by the pool and asks her opinion of the dolphins’ roles at Waikaloa. The American vet is polite but emphatic. They are all about tourism. But they seem healthy enough. The oldest female is in her 50s.

And, of course, they are fabulous to wach at close prioximity - which is this cafe.

We have masses of packing and organising to do.


 But Ru alone has promised to do the art walk with Sa. Sa wants to write about this art collection and the phenomenon of such a massive display of Pacific art. We take the train to the breakfast pavilion and walk down the gallery looking at astounding collections of buddha heads in glass cases. 










Sa takes lots of snaps, albeit reflections are frustrating. There is so so much art that some of the photos are bound to be great. And if anyone takes on her long-planned arts feature, they will only publish a few of the myriad images.  It is absolutely epic. At the end of the property, adjoined by golf links, stands the great white Buddha at Buddha Point. We have to ask diretions to weave our way there through another area of swimming pools and water slides.  



The resort is huge. But we get there and ring Bruce asking him to come out onto the balcony to wave to us. We can see him, tiny in his blue T. He is not sure that he sees us and, annoyingly, has not told Rosie.


We wend our weary way back through the complex to rest and finish packing.
Dinner has been promised as a special treat from the upscale restaurant on the opposite point of the property. B and S had been there before and were keen albeit that it is a very costly treat. 

One dines there open air and watches the sun go down.
They had assigned us a good table. B had a whiskey and Sa ordered a G&T which was oh, so strong,







The don't measure their spirits in the US as we do in Oz. Spirits are cheap. So perhaps that is why Sa was so offended by the stupidity of the tall, lanky, middle-aged, loser waiter.
Ru argues that compassion should be shown to anyone who ends up as a hotel waiter at his age. Sa says he should know his job. It is quite an ongoing contretemps.
Anyway, the food is OK. The sun sets over the sea. No one is poisoned. And B tips the dumb waiter despite Sa’s protestations.



Day 10

Despite the big dinner, breakfast could not be resisted by the three Harrises who take the train down to the breakfast pavilion. It is very crowded down there and we have to wait for our names to be called.  At last, Sa gets her eggs benedict.  They have come back on the breakfast specials rotation.

Now comes the crunch and we have an immense amount of luggage, a nightmare now with two cases each.


 They do not fit in the cadillac. Two cabin bags have to perch between the girls and the mass of excess provisons at Sa’s feet.  But we get off in good time to make the drive across the saddle of the island, noting the fascinating changes in both landscape and vegetation. 





Cinder cones, lava, grasses, flowering shrubs, wispy trees, coming into a strange jungle of interesting arid plants. Sa manages a Facetime call to Peter from way up there, amid the cinder cones.  


And then, the silky smooth road leans into its great downward path to Hilo where all is lush and verdant. Such a dramatic contrast. From lava desert to tropical jungle.



 And there, beneath the great banyan-like tree with its cascdes of aerial roots, is the Hilo Bay Cafe where B and I dined seven years ago.  B brings up the photo of that day, with me shawled in my yellow sarong with a mug of tea smiling through the pain of shingles. We take a “today” shot in that very place on the balcony where we have been given a table for four.

It is hot but there is a lovely view of the vivid blue bay and people besporting upon its waters. B tells of the day when a great tidal wave emptied the bay and returned with a wave 50 ft high, 3 storeys, and wiped out most of the habitation and lots of the people.  We shudder. The girls have mocktails called Bloom.



They come in proper cocktail glasses and taste like flowers. They have a fried lunch. The olds have salad. S is coming to the end of her love for raw fish.



We drive into Hilo town which is rather charming, full of souvenir shops and a lively fruit and vegetable market. We potter in a couple of shops, noting all the dope paraphernalia. Marijuana is not legal here but no one seems to care. 
We buy bits and pieces and are charmed by the friendliness of the shopkeepers

The living fruit and veg market is a greater drawcard.
We buy mangosteens and rose fruit in the market because fruit-loving Rosie has never tried them.
There's a guy with coconuts - who turns out to be a wiry Brit. He slices open $6 coconuts so the girls can drink them fresh. They are underwhelmed. 

But the fruit is lovely.
And the fruit vendors.




 Ru, who has a headache, is distressed by the beggars and homeless. That is the not pretty picture of the USA. It is really bad here. People have rough shelters across the road and, while one man plays beautiful flute to a classical soundtrack.

Another screams incoherent nonsense about his dogs to no one in particular. He has a very complicated setup and two tiny dogs snoozing in its shade. 

He sees Sa raise her phone and shouts threats at her.


We give generously to the flautist and snub the manic shouter.

B has been uncomfortable leaving the loaded Caddy in this worrying world of homeless people.
He is keen to move on.
And, he wants to replenish the gin supply and have a pee. Travellers must pee when and where they can. So, we pop in on Hilo’s Walmart which is a significantly better one than the one in Kona. Good place for a pee, too. Sa is really relaxed with American conveniences because of the loo-seat covers. Why does Australia not have them?

Back into the Caddy for what turns out to be a longish drive to the Volcano National Park.  The roads are very busy. So much more so than seven years ago. 
Proving its Hilo climatic promise, it rains a bit. When we reach the park, it is noticeably cooler at 1300 meters elevation.

Volcano House seems a bit like a ski lodge with its armchair lounge and year round wood fire burning. 

Sa is horrified that our booking is for two “standard” rooms.

 As much as she checked and pleaded with our agent, Volcano House rooms looking at the carpark was not the idea.

 Sa is shattered. She regretted using the RAA agent. She recalled the huge USA roadtrip and all the stunning bookings she was able to make through Booking.com and Expedia, her two favourites. She begged for upgrade. "These girls have come from Austraia for this experience. It is a very long way," Sa argues. But, oh, no, this is America and everything is full. This is also one of the uncertainties of travel. You can never be sure.
"Well, there is one room," said the receptionist. "It has 'a partial view'. Would you like to see it?"
 It is Room 1, directly opposite our allocated Room 2.
 Sa notes the odd musty smell in the room and looks at the view. It has a decent crater view, partial indeed, but way better than a carpark. She says they will take it. But the girls don’t want it. They like the twin queen beds in Room 2 which is also fresh and fragrant.  Room 1 has a King. There is a lot of “no, you have it…."no, YOU have it” and the argument that there is no view at night anyway wins over and the girls happily colonise fresh air fragrant Room 2 while Sa sets about puzzling over the smell in Room 1.  It is a disabled room. There is even a piece of bed apparatus in it which apparently stops a person from falling out of bed. Never seen its like. The room smells strangely sour, as if all efforts to cover its musty odours have failed, Sa is not good with smells but she always travels with an armament of fragrances. She sprays the Pot Poorie generously, sprinkles cologne on the bedding, etc. She checks to see if the mattress is sour. It has layers of very clean mattress covers under the sheets. And it seems a decent mattress. The safe is locked.  Receptioist  Lisa’s keys open it, but it refuses to to function. Chuck the veteran handyman is sent in to do his magic. He says the volcano is stirring and volcanologists are excited. It could erupt any time - today or in months. No telling. But this ancient smoke-spewing wonder is sending messages that it is ready. 



Volcano House provides Mimosas for new guests. We gather them (not for kids…they are entitled to free cookies) and we take them to the lounge area having absurdly booked for a lateish dinner and sit to watch the video reels of Kilauea’s fiery action over the years. 

The gift shop is the best we have seen. Good retail entertainment. We potter and plan a bit. Irony! Now we have spent up, there is an Aladdin’s cave of  fascinating trinketry? Dammit. And what will our luggage weigh? Dilemmas.  
There is no view now. Cloud has descended over the volcano. Whiteout.
We have to wait for our late booking dinner. They are running behind schedule. Staff shortage is punishing for staff and guests. The staff keep smiling. The menu is strange. For some reason B and I choose roasted marrow bone as a starter.  B has Opa, moon fish, servied on a hodgepodge mound of exotica - celeriac and enoki mushrooms. Both girls wisely have New York strip sirloin steaks with chips, and they clear their plates. My stuffed Big Island chicken is as dry as a nun’s tit. And then we had the holiday treat - the shared dessert, which was beyond heavenly.

 Thus sated, we waddle off to our bedrooms up there in the clouds at the rim of the volcano..


Day 11 (Volcano)

Girls skip breakfast after the over-rich dinner.
Sa needs real coffee and discovers the excellent egg chef for a cheese and tomato omelette.
It is the day for volcano learning and exploring.

We hit the museum, learning about the natural history environs of the area, the bird life, the plants, the few spiders, the smiley face being one, the few insects but a tiny drosophila which it shows as a huge model. 






Afterwards we explore the rim path walk with its eerily steaming vents. It is a perilous walk with vertical drops on both sides. Sa stressed out, the responsibility of keeping the precious girls safe weighing heavily. No risks, please. Careful. Danger.


It is indeed a very perilous path and it could not be a more perilous place. But that is part of the thrill and fascination. We don’t go all the way. Once we have felt the heat of the steam hissing from black holes in the ground, seen the condensation on the plants, realised that there were lots of these steam vents and god knows what, there beneath our feet,

we turn back taking in the views of the smoking volcano between the trees and noting the trees perched on the cliff faces,  and the interesting ferns and flowers of the safer part of the path. It's a walk we won’t forget in a hurry. Bruce is explaining the science of it all as we go, so it is a five-star, first-hand on-site lesson on these aspects of the earth’s molten core. But it is not yet done. There is a lava tube to experience. 


 We girls go for early lunch at the Volcano House bar, with a prime window table from which to peruse the restless power of Kilauea. 


The places from which she smokes and steams vary. The quantities of smoke vary. She has moods and reaches.  We devour our burgers and salads and then hit the road in the black Caddy on the Bruce volcano tour. 
There are bloody traffc jams of others trying to see the immediate sites and a very grumpy park ranger telling us off because someone had blocked ”her” carpark. Its the first unplesant national park ranger Sa has  met. The problem is not of our making and it was wrong of her to walk down the line of cars and pick on hapless us trapped in the queue.

Liberated, we find a park and look at the crater view of Kilauea Iki and then, thinking the tourists would still be overwhelming, find another park at the next significant attraction and follow the steep path down the hillside to see the Thurston lava tube.
It’s a tunnel. It is underground weird like the Naracoorte caves, no, more like a road tunnel. It is illuminated a bit, but it also is drippy and full of puddles and fairly nasty underfoot. Ruby hangs onto Sazi protectively, and her support is much needed. We go only part way. We get the message. We get the sensation. And B reminds us that we have seen the film footage of just how these tubes are made. What is the process? Firming of the surface layer over a river of lava. Later the source ceases and the inside runs out, leaving a hollow tube down the mountain.


 Next, we take the chain of craters road and discover that there is indeed a chain of ancient craters , various in their shapes and sizes.  We pile out of the car to gaze into several and then become a bit ho hum about them, seen one, seen ‘em all. It’s not quite true and they are all definitely rather scary.



But the climate is hot and swiftly induces lethargy. We drive through different lava fields,  Ru and Rosie being tested as to whether they are a'a or pahoehoe. 
A'a is rough and rocky. Pahoehoe is sheeted and layered with smooth surfaces and is significantly more beautiful. 


This whole side of the island is cascading lava fields and the road winds through elbow bends down down down to the sea where there are lava plateaux on the water and, of course, the lava which in the odd millennia will become new fertile land.  It is a long, vertiginous drive, the sort that makes Sa nervous, but it is a dramatic revelation of the might of lava flows.

Down at sea level, where the air is heavy again, we turn around eschewing the petroglyphs people are traipsing across the lava to peruse. The B tour is strictly science, kids. And it is hot out there.
The drive back up the mountain shows the flows in another light. We are all getting zoned into lava. It is a spectacle like nothing else, a fascinating design up on mountainsides complete with occasional striking islands of miraculously spared mature forest, called kipukas by the Hawaiians, says B



Back at Volcano House, Kilauea is still simmering away. Lazily ominous.
And then the cloud descends again.
There is a constant stream of visitors arriving to see the volcano. A zillion people of all ages and nationalities have done selfies there on the wall outside Volcano House. It is fun to watch. Some are touring the national park and some are coming to stay in Volcano House. Some, especially the very elderly,  come with tour guides. They all pass through the viewing room with its big wicker chairs, and exclaim. It is a “Wow” moment. When the volcano is in white-out, it is sad to witness their disappointment. 

We dine early in the bar.

Burgers and steaks and another luscious shared dessert.
It’s a big packing and organising night. Ro has tipped her suittcase contents on the floor in search of something. Sa starts to fret about her needing help with it but Ru is on the job. Ro has had a few other problems.  She’s had a sore, red ear. B thinks it may be a brewing boil. We prescribe hot flannel compresses. Poor kid. She also comes up with an itchy rash. It looks like a heat rash. Sa applies cortisone cream.

Day12

A simple breakfast. Fruit and toast and eggs. 
Luggage.

The black Caddy struggles to accommodate it all, but B finds a way to lessen the back seat load so it is roomier for the girls on the road back down to the coast. Everything is a long way but the traffic is not so manic on this part of the island and we pass through some lovely tropical villages, one of which is having a craft market on the green.

We stop and explore it. It is very new-age with soaps and oils and healthy aromatics, home-dyed clothes, jewellery, and even local fruit.  The people are lovely. It is a nice window into Hawaiian communities which comprise people who have come to live here from all over,  especially mainland USA. We meet a long-term local with her fruit stand. Girls eat a local mandarin. Sa buys a passionfruit. And also lovely island fragrance distilled by an Estonian woman, another long-term local. 

And we drive on through increasing habitation to our destination for this one last night - the Outrigger in Keauhou, Kona. 
There was a major issue getting accommodation for this last night and our RAA agent could only do it for thousands of dollars.

 Sa found the Outrigger on booking.com and it is a triumph. We swoon and wish we had proper time here. The charge us $50 for early checkin and kit us out with the best room keys ever, ones which one wears on the wrist. The answer. Waterproof for swimming. We are rapt.

We have complimentary valet and service and a 4th floor 2-room family suite with two entrances two baths, and two balconies. The girls bliss out.

Garden, sea and mountain views; simply gorgeous. 

While B fills the car we girls find the poolside cafe and order lunch, noting that one section of the resort’s huge pool is reserved for adults only. 


Ro says she wishes she was 21 because she is destined to the other pool. But it is no hardship. We'll be sticking together.
Girls have naughty fried lunch with chips. S and B have Caesar salads which are just about as rich with their parmesan and dressing. 
We walk the superbly manicured grounds with their flower-laden frangiapani trees. Everyone takes a rest. The girls are really happy with their private balcony which is even in the sun.

 The resort is big and needs some getting to know. but Ru is a natural navigator and leads us back to the pool area for swim buddies Sa and Ro to have a swim.  It is not crowded. How refreshing. So is the ice-cold complimentary pineapple served poolside. 




They take their in the water time. It is their longest swim.
Ru lolls expertly and then accompanies Ro to discover where to get on the water slide. Whoosh! They found it.

The resort has a clubroom for guests and we are apparently members. Sa is welcomed with a big tote bag gift. Free snacks and drinks are provided.  We pick at the options and sit out on a deck overlooking the sea. B goes to town and loads his plate, making a complete meal of the assembled appetisers. We try a bit, but Sa wants a real meal,



We linger there watching the red-capped sparrows and the grand old sunset. Our last Hawaiian sunset. It is lovely. B posts a photo on FB. 
Finding the hotel restaurant is a challenge but we do. It is large and dimly lit. There’s Hawiaian live music at one end, really good. Even a dancer. Soup of the day is carrot and ginger. Sa goes for it. B for seafood chowder. Ru has chicken fingers and chips while Ro felt she could not leave the USA without trying a cheese melt. The soups are not hot and the waitress replaces them and offers a free dessert as an apology. We choose a creamy macadamia towering treat of a thing, our last ritual shared dessert. Divine.


Packing and bed, Early start for the airport. Sigh.

Day 13

Even the melatonin kids are up before sparrowfart. Departure day. None of us has slept much. 5.30 is our exit time and the valet fails to front to take the cases. We lug them down ourselves and the valet helps load the Caddy.

We’ve given ourselves goodly time which is just as well because the famous Ironman competition is happening and roads are all sectioned off with cones and no one is driving. We are the only car. In some places, people are walking on the roads. 
But the mood is laid back with crowds growing along the route of the race. Finally, police direct us off this course and onto another which ends up being the main road to the airport. B drops us at departure and takes the car back to Herz. We find a woman booking passengers through the luggage and ticketing process for tips and take advantage of it. Suddenly, we are ticketed thru to Adelaide, albeit we have a night to spend in Sydney.  

The airport wait seems epic. Hurry up and wait, We buy the girls a pizza and for their parents some Mongoose brand Kona coffee. Very expensive. But we knew that. 
It’s a short hop to Honolulu - just over an hour. But a scarily short turnaround in Honolulu, until we get there and discover that the protocols are less complicated and the airport is efficient.
Officials have been very nice to us throughout. Hawaii is definitely the place to enter and leave the USA. 

The trip home feels long. It is long. And we have to spend a night at the Rydges Airport Hotel in Sydney. With all our luggage.
An early, early departure on the red-eye flight to Adelaide - and, reunion!!!