Do not worry: I do not walk on by vanity.
The sequel to the title of my blog is by hackers! Having had one of my gmail
accounts hacked whilst I was still in Oz, now my Facebook account has been
hacked. Since yesterday, I can no longer access my Varlet Farm account on
Facebook (for those amongst you who would like to connect with me again, search
for Charlotte Descamps) since some friendly Belgian (my password was changed in
Belgium) has hacked my account. Am I really naïve when being shocked by the
fact that there are people who clearly do not show respect to others? I guess I
am, as my upcoming divorce has made more than clear that people can have two
faces
This computer ignorant has therefore
engaged in recovering my account. And although I am the first to admit that I
wasnt born with a built-in technology nodule, I honestly wonder who on earth
manages to understand the procedure. Clear enough I dont as I remain
unsuccessful in all my attempts.
Some positive news to be shared too though:
today, I have seen the sun. The rain is gone, instead we had a pleasant 14 °C, quite enjoyable on a
winter day.
Two appointments in my diary for today: one
which might open a door to a new future and one with a former guest of Varlet
Farm. Two meetings of completely different calibre, different nature and with
totally different people. But both of them left me with a good feeling
The day came to an end with a lecture in
the Papanui RSA club. Since my host was having such high expectations, I really
started getting nervous as well. This was definitely not my best presentation
ever but nevertheless it was well appreciated. The best compliment was given by
someone who does lectures on a regular base. He simply said: you are a natural!
Enough to colour my day
No load of pictures today (even none) but a
warm feeling of satisfaction. That is what I want to add to this blog.
Frustration, frustration.. since once again
I am caught I a situation without WIFI which means that I can not update my
blogs. That was the case on Sunday but in the meantime,we are a few days further
One of the most popular topics for a chat
worldwide must be the weather. By now, this has given me sufficient inspiration
to publish a novel. The title would have to be The drowned land of Canterbury.
Being Belgian, I am entitled to say that I am used to rain. Whatever has been
pouring down without any interruption for the last 24 hours, can no longer be
described as such though. Never before in my life have I seen a downpour as
this.
Just like Flanders, the Canterbury plains have a layer of clay below
the surface. The main difference proves to be the lack of a drainage system.
Not that this would have sorted out the problem in the short term. With half
the normal amount of rainfall coming down in a couple of days, even with the
best possible drainage system, it would still take days to get the fields dry
again.
My host, Kevin, is the deputy mayor of an
area called Waimakariri. Just as has been the case in Belgium many
years ago, the villages merged, meaning that the present council is now
responsible for some 48000 inhabitants, living in an area of about 2200 square
km. Comparing that to West Flanders (with its 1.164.000 inhabitants in 3140
square km) it become clear what a large but sparsely populated area this is.
Being a deputy mayor in such bad weather conditions is not an enviable
position: all day long, Kevin is being contacted by people experiencing
problems with flooding.
It would be sheer madness to go walking in
this type of weather, so Kevin takes me for a tour of the area in his car.
Rivers, which are normally meandering harmless through the landscape, are
instantly transformed into fast-flowing rivers, overflowing their banks
everywhere. Cattle and sheep are looking dazed at so much wetness surrounding
them: the quadrupeds are facing a long and very wet night
Something very typical for this area are
the shelter belts: pine trees grown as a high hedge. Initially used to break
the wind but at the same time providing shelter for the cattle. However, in the
given weather conditions, even shelter belts can not fulfil this task : this is
a situation of hoping for quick improvement.
Milk and other agriculture products
represent the bulk of NZs export: no wonder that investments are being made in
this sector. Although, I can not deny that this sometimes leads to strange
situations. What to think of a cow tunnel under the main road? Because the
flock of a local farmer was gradually increasing in size in combination with
the fact that part of his meadows were across a busy road, it was decided to
construct a tunnel under the street. Not a matter of providing more safety for
the cows of course, more a case of providing an answer to motorist becoming
more and more impatient.
Another surprise to me was the size of the
irrigations systems : huge installations which can be as long as 2 km! All wheels are
individually controlled by a computer because the giant system runs around in a
semicircle. Top of the bill is a recently installed system that simply goes
over the house! No dirt of that roof ever but laundry that has to dry in the
tumble dryer is the price to be paid.
Another country, so other laws. On our way,
we passed a farm that was divided into building lots, making 25 lots of 5 acres available for hobby
farmers. No endless procedures to change the use of the land here: down under
one seems to be using common sense in a better way
After having spent 2 night at Kevin and
Marees house (who eagerly look forward to their first European trip) I end up
to visit Murray, who takes me to his sister later in the day. In the company of
a sociology professor, I am guaranteed of an evening filled with interesting
discussions about society, different culture and life tout court.
Raylee is a native resident of the
devastated city, which Christchurch
still is. She takes me on a walking tour through the old town centre: it turns
out to become an account of what is already gone and what is still there to be
demolished. Tears spring to her eyes when referring to the groundswell of
support that came to Christchurch
in the weeks after the devastating earthquakes. Since there were no casualties
after the first heavy shock in September 2010, the locals were left with a
false sense of security. The second big earthquake in February 2011, came as a
huge shock. None less than a 185 people died, most of them in 2 towers which
had collapsed as a house of cards.
Cranes are working day and night, seven
days a week. Entire neighbourhoods are closed to city dwellers with soldiers in
place to make sure that no one passes these points unauthorised.
It is a sad story: the story of a whole
city which disappears of the map, taking many precious memories with it.
Fortunately, people have a resilience that can not be underestimated. Making
sure that businesses could keep on going, a shopping centre made of sea
containers, has been built in the centre of town: coloured containers, brought
together in a random way, were very artistically converted into shops and
coffee shops. Sad to hear that a Brit has put down a complaint because he felt
that his idea was stolen. Having started a shop in a container in
Great-Britain, he consider to hold the exclusive rights to this concept. Run to hell is the anser the Kiwis have,
most rightly, given him
I cant believe what I see next: further
down the street, I spot a man in a medieval outfit. Intriguing enough for me to
approach him in order to find out what he is up to. It appears to be the town
crier, proclaiming the news, three to four hours a day.He adds in a cynical way that his job now
mainly exists to announce one or other exhibition in a particular building,
followed by the announcement that the building is not accessible until further
notice Black humour every deals with the tragedy in their own way.
My trip would even render a hardcore
Bedouin jealous Off I go again, on my way to my next hosts: Michael and Lesley
welcome me with great warmth in their beautiful home. I soon come to learn that
Michael has planned to fill my days in a useful way as I am taken to meet two
history professors at Canterbury
university. A visit which ends up to be so much more than a pure history
lesson: these people have given me advice, of which I know it will determine my
future a great deal. To be continued
Bedtime for me: with loads of new
impressions stored in my mind, I know it will be a relaxing sleep.
Time seems to be flying by faster and
faster, at least that is how I am experiencing it right now. My short stop in Dunedin is one which I
will remember for a long time, mainly because I have found the right balance
between work and leisure.
Even before setting foot on the ground in Dunedin, I had a picture
in my mind of the place. Many Kiwis had told me that this is the city where the
Scottish feel is still strongly present. Indeed, in one way or another, this
city feels very European.
A strong tailwind results in the fact that
my coffee grinder (domestic flights are all handled with relatively small
aircraft)lands some 10 minutes earlier
than planned. And that means that my new host, Sean, is nowhere to be found.
Not that this presents any problem since I was already chatting time away .
Sean must have realised from the very First minute that I am not exactly a shy
person.
We head for Seans house, driving through a
beautiful green landscape, where I will spend the next 3 nights. I did got the
morning free to update my blogs but as you see, I did not succeed I have
barely finished replying my mail, when it is time to hit the road again. First
to the local TV studio as they had asked for an interview with the Belgian
visitor. It ends up being the fastest recorded interview ever, not in the
studio but in the nearby railway station, where a brass plaque on the wall
reminds of Passchendaele. The plaques (one on either side) were initially
installed on a locomotive but later on ended up on the wall of the railway
station. The second one is to be seen in Christchurch.
Then becomes a matter of running, walking
and running to make it in time to the cinema where a film about aMaori pilgrimage was shown. I have already
mentioned that the indigenous population of this island has integrated in a
much better way than in Australia.
I assume that the film was produced to make clear that the Maori culture has
also determined the image of this country. It brings the story of a group of
Maori children from the NorthernIsland on a pilgrimage to the Southern
Island, walking in the steps of their forebears. Along the way,
the group stops at several places where their ancestors had also halted on
their forced journey South. I am most likely the only European in the theatre
(which is sold out), so perhaps I look through different eyes. Somehow, I feel
uncomfortable as some parts come across as if they want to throw a sense of
guilt on the angry white man. Political correctness in a fashion word today
does this film fit under this umbrella???
On Thursday, I had my first college
experience waiting for me. Another lesson learned for me: check where the light
switches are! Halfway through my lecture, the lights suddenly switched on,
resulting in the fact that the laser beam is no longer visible. Since no one
seems to know where to find the switch to turn the light off, I have to
continue without the use of the laser. Somewhat different from the usual
talk The group was smaller than expected (about 15 in total) but that was
compensated by the attention with which my lecture was followed.
After my talk, Don McKay was introduced to
me. In a way, his path resembles mine a bit: from a farm to becoming a
historian (with that difference that he has a university degree). He takes me
to the local army museum, where I get to see a lot of WW II artefacts. Our next
stop is a local pub, where I am being presented a local beer. Another reason
why Dunedin has
more of a European feel to it:there is
a brewery and a chocolate factory bang in the middle of town. The amber beer
actually goes down very well. Having said that, I am pleased that I only asked
for a half a pint. Had I gone for the full pint, I would have ended up being a
singing Belgian!
On Friday, an interview with the national
radio was scheduled, followed by a visit to a local artist who makes brooches
of bullets and pieces of brass. Can you imagine my surprise when recognising
the cards on the table, showing the design? In 2007, NZ head of Defence in London stayed at my
place, asking me to distribute those cards amongst my Kiwi guests. And now I am
here, meeting a most charming man with whom I would have loved to chat for a
longer time. No time to be wasted though: my next stop is the Otago museum. A
flying visit this is but long enough to make clear to me that an art-loving
soldier had brought back to the homeland, a wide range of Egyptian art pieces,
including 2 mummies!
Just enough time for changing outfit:
minutes later, this lady in red is ready for a lecture in the local library.
The talk is being organised by the Settlers museum but since the building is
still in refurbishment, it has been moved to the library. No one has any idea
of the number ofpeople that will attend
but it soon becomes clear there isnt sufficient space to seat the more than
100 interested ones showing up. Sean had informed me that a talk here never
lasts longer than one hour well, that is as good as asking for the impossible
to happen. So my start was a warning followed by a joke and the promise that I
would not return in the near future. Good enough to get the group on my side
immediately. It has turned out to be a beautiful evening, followed by a chat
with many of the audience afterwards. To that extend that we were kindly asked
to leave the room because they wanted to close. A lovely dinner is a local
restaurant put a very nice capstone on this visit. Thanks everyone!
Another ungodly start yesterday: I am
already closing my suitcase at 5 am. On to the airport then where Sean waved my
out on my way to my new adventure, one that has brought me to Christchurch.
John and Olive what a wonderful reunion
with loyal guests of Varlet Farm. First stop is a restaurant to enjoy a very
filling breakfast, after which we head down to the coast. The journey takes me
along breathtaking landscapes. Every tourist has to agree with me: this is
nature at its best: hills, a beautiful coast line with idyllic villages dotted
in between this is what New Zealand has to offer, topped up with warm hospitality.
Exhausted I retreat to my room. Just before
sleep gets me in its grip, I realise that I have just learned what it really
means to live life to the fullest.
No better environment to write a blog than
an airport: so here I am again. After a very short night, constantly
interrupted by heavy rain on the tin roof, I am once again waiting for a
flight. Heading for Dunedin
this time
On my journey, it has become clear to me
that kiwi hospitality is more than a step higher than in any other country. The
plan was to spend the night in a hotel since I need to be at the airport by 6
am. Well that didnt happen. As soon as John and Elizabeth learned that I had
returned to Wellington,
I received an invitation to stay with them again. On top of that, Elizabeth was so kind to
take me to the airport too. This is a country with 2 faces: on the one hand
side, there is the more than relaxed atmosphere but I stand in amazement when
hearing that every week, the eldest daughter is getting out of bed at 5 am to
play water polo! As there is only one swimming pool in town, which is suitable
for this sport, school teams are booking their training ungodly early in the
morning. This young lady is playing water polo at 6 am in the morning, going to
school after that in order to finish the day with a hockey training. Her mother
proves to be equally active: either she goes walking for an hour or on a day as
today (with heavy rain) she kills time with swimming.
Fact is that the school culture, where
sports fills a much bigger part of the curriculum,appears to bear fruit. If the newspapers got
it right, NZ currently holds the highest number of Olympic medals per capita.
So it pays to get up early in the morning: that is the conclusion I draw.
Todays flight will bring me to Dunedin, the second last
stop on my planned route. As Dunedin
is a relatively small city (120.000 inhabitants of whom 20.000 students) , I
have only planned a 3 day stop. Busy days by the sound of it, as I have two
scheduled lectures: one in the OtagoUniversity and the second
one in the library. The Settlersmuseum,
who is organising the second lecture, could not host my talk, due to major
refurbishments.
A new challenge here: it will be my very
first talk in an university auditorium. Having said that, the auditoriums of
some of the museums I have lectured in, are most likely not inferior than the
one I will be presenting in tomorrow
Meanwhile, I have safe and well arrived in Dunedin. A strong tail
wind brings me here 10 minutes before the official timing. This city has the
reputation of being a bit of Scotland
down under. Never having been to Scotland, I have no grounds to
compare. All I see are endless pastures where countless heads of cattle are
grazing in the most scenic landscape. Milk and butter are main products in NZ
export. As I understand, almost the whole quota ends up being bought by China. Is it
this high demand which keep the prices relatively high? With a price of 65
cents for a litre milk, it sits above the Belgian price. Or do I have that
wrong?I learn that farmers would love
to increase their live stock. However, New Zealand shows to be a very
conscious country on environmental issues ( gradually that shows in the
building regulations as well) hence the fact hat no more licences for more
cattle are being handed out. As far as I am concerned : a very courageous
decision of the government. They look on long term instead of going for the
quick gain.
Being picked up by a stranger surely has
its charms Except for a name, I have no information on my new host. The best
attitude is to wait till someone steps forward to me. Sean soon appears in
order to bring me to his home, where I will be staying the next couple of days.
Not much time to sit and relax though since I am being expected for a TV
interview this afternoon. Already I start sweating: as talkative as I might be,
a camera still has that paralysing effect on me. I can only hope that this will
become an experience of which I will be able to think off in a pleasant way in
the years to come. One thing is for certain: this journey is one that I
couldnt have dreamt of in my wildest dreams!
Travelling teaches you to look at the world
through different eyes, that is for sure. When leaving Belgium behind,
I took that uneasy feeling with me: the gnawing insecurity, which constantly
reminded me that I had left a safe haven behind in order to walk in a dark
night to an uncertain future.
Months later, I understand that there are
times in everyones life,when one just
have to overcome the fear to jump. In that respect, my choice to explore the
world, was the best decision I have ever made. Even though I have no idea which
direction my life will move to: the fear is gone, I am now convinced that one
door has closed but another will open for me.
The past few days, I have spent with a
mixed Belgian-British couple. Just before arriving there, I had a little taster
of the local mentality. The plan was for me to take the train to Featherston
where David was going to collect me from the railway station. Already I know
that I would be able to write a book on the Australian trains perhaps I might
add a small chapter on NZ trains?What
abouta train not departing because of a
problem to connect the locomotive to the carriages. The various attempts left
me with a brown suspicion that they did their very best to lull us to sleep.
One gentle bump after the other till finally 15 minutes later, we were ready
to depart. The 4.25 train from Wellington
is the first one in the evening and proves to be completely full. Jenny, the
train conductor ( a cheerful lady, born of Dutch parents, who came to NZ at a young
age) approached a grandmother, travelling with her 4 year old grandson, to ask
if the little boy could sit in the hall as there was an elderly lady with no
seat. To my utter surprise, the grandmother responded very agitated and refusedpoint blank to take the little boy on her lap
or to seat him in the hallway (which I am sure he would have loved since there
were more children in the corridor). I immediately volunteered to give up my
seat but in the meantime the problem had been solved by a mother who had no
problem to take her toddler on her lap. Whats wrong with society, I wonder. Life
doesnt always go over a path of roses However, with a bit of good will from
everyone, the world could be so much nicer.
Once arrived in Featherston, I was to discover
to discover the beautiful house, where I will be staying for the next four
days. Strangely enough I could almost feel the Flemish touch that had
decorated this place as soon as I walked in. Moments later, Patsy arrived home
and from then on there was nothing that was going to stop us : we literally
chatted till our vocal cards were raw! For Patsy, I prove to be the first
Belgian visitor she sees ever since she left the country some good three years
ago. Needless to say that she wouldnt let go of the opportunity to communicate
in her mother tongue. I soon learn that this couple is living proof of the fact
that fairy tales sometimes do become reality.They met each other while Patsy visited New Zealand a meeting that would
change her life for ever after since they are now happily married. This young
woman left everything behind in Belgium
in order to discover her piece of paradise down under. The happy look in her
eyes tells me that she has taken the right decision for sure!
Featherston and Greyston are quiet
villages, settled in the most picturesque landscape. However quiet these
villages end up to be during weekdays, they turn into a busy hive during the
weekend as a lot of city people venture out here in search of that authentic
feeling, that is still hanging around here. The economical crisis has hit here
too as I spot a number of shops to rent as well as an unusual second hand
shops. And guess what I find in one of those LPs from Bouwdewijn de Groot
(Belgian singer), Rob de Nijs (Dutch) , Gilbert Bécaud (French) and Nana
Mouskouri (Greek) .. a piece of long time gone European culture.
Disaster, o disaster , on Sunday morning as
one arm of my glasses just slated. Without them I am as blind as a bat when it
comes to reading. No optician in the village, so I need to try my luck in Wellington. The first
optician, gives me a very worried look before informing me that it will take at
least one week to have my glasses fixed. Given the fact, that I am leaving for Dunedin tomorrow, this is
not really an option. Next shop, same story which leaves me ultimately with no
other option but to buy a new frame. Not a blessing for my budget as I soon
discover that frames are a lot more expensive than in Europe.
However there is some blessing in disguise, since I find a frame with exactly
the same dimensions, allowing me to recycle my lenses. This lady can read again
without any problem!
Meanwhile I am staying overnight in Wellington in order to
catch the plane early in the morning. Although, hearing the news this morning,
in which was announced a volcanic eruption in the northern island and that this
was going to affect air traffic, I started having doubts. Fortunately, I am
heading South, so hopefully the ash cloud will not interfere.
So many times, I have left a place with the
feeling that I will return sooner or later. Not different here Wellington has a special
charm, which is tempting me. Without any fixed schedule, I have no clue whether
I will ever settle here . However a voice deep down inside tells me that Wellington will surely
welcome me with open arms
Late at night however, I hope to be able
to share some of my impressions with you.
After having stayed with numerous host
families, I am still being touched by the warmth of all those people, who
welcome me into their house.Having been
on the other side, as hostess of Varlet Farm for manyyears, I finally understand what my guests
meant when saying that I provided a home away from home. After months of
travelling, I have been fortunate enough to experience this on many occasions.
Am I born under a lucky star to find myself exposed to that many positive
experiences?
On Saturday afternoon, I am being expected
in the local RSA of Masterton. I have been introduced to a mixed group of
people, all of them bitten by the history bug. No official lecture is scheduled
here: instead, I have a lovely chat with all this people after which I am being
guided in their own small museum, that proves to be a labour of love.
Paul and Angela are real animal lovers: Two
dogs and three cats are part of the family. Where as I would describe myself
much more as a dog person, I often end up getting the attention of the cats. In
this case a British Blue (which wasnt blue at all but did have the typical
flat nose) decided that I would make good company during the night : to that extend
that she woke me up, snoring next to me ear, to convince me of her choice in
the middle of the night!
Hm, being a guest surely offers some
advantages. On Sunday, I had been invited to a guided tour in Peter
Jacksons(yes the one of The lord of
the rings!) collection of WW I planes. My host couldnt believe his ears, when
learning that I was to be taken around by a guide. Fact is that I have been
able to render at least one Kiwi happy, since my guide didnt mind that my host
joined in. To Paul this was the cave
of Ali Baba! The
collection of planes on display is beyond belief: 3 authentic WWIplanes, nicely on a row, next to a long row
of rebuilt ones, all with an original engine. Just to blow me over completely,
the guide announced that all of these planes were still flying. I dont know
whether I must have looked with too much disbelief on my face but fact is that
2 of these old machines were pushed out of the hangar, in order to take off
only minutes later. This journey has been a long succession of highlights, but
I guess this experience scores really high on my scale!
Every now and then one has to relax, so it
is essential to reserve some time for that too. In this case my spare time was
nicely filled in by an invitation to attend a birthday party. Jack, who has
gone a long way to build up my Wellington
schedule, turned 65, good enough reason for a true party. However, they do even
better since Jacks wifegets to 65 just
a week later: in other words, I am in for a double party! And that is how I end
up, as a single Belgian, in and amongst a group of celebrating Kiwis. Or wasnt
I?At some point a lady walked towards
me, addressing me very friendly with Hoe maak je het ? (how do you do?) .
Loes, a Dutch lady had followed the love of her life as far as the other side
of the world. Born in Brunsem, she learned to know a very different world here.
No doubt, she liked what she saw, since 40 years down the road, she is still
here.
When one is feeling fine, saying goodbye
isnt fun. That was no different on Monday : I regret having to leave Paul and
Angelas house, on my way to my next destination.WairarapaCollege had shown some
interest in my lectures and has been so considerate to invite the students of
some private schools as well. So instead of presenting my lecture three times
to different schools, I end up doing one lecture for three schools. My vocal
cords are grateful to them!
After a lunch stop with Loes and John, we
head to Featherston. The road winds through a landscape that could serve as
backdrop in a movie. I simply can not describe the different shades of green.
And dont I just have to agree with my NZ hosts, telling me there are more
sheep than people in this country:the
number of wool producers, I have seen here, undoubtedly surpasses the entire
Belgian arsenal.
Arriving in Featherston: priority number
one is to get rid of that big red suitcase before I have to head to my next
appointment, which is a lecture in Anzac Hall. This historic building was for
so many Kiwis the place where they had their last dance. Thousands of young men
have dreamed of the big adventure that awaited them. A few months later, that
dream tuned out to be their worst nightmare.
In a young country, where there are few
historic buildings, it would be such a shame not to cherish this piece of
preserved history.Considering that the
centenary of the Great War is approaching quickly, I can only hope that the NZ
government will recognise the importance of Anzac Hall in such a way that they
will assure that this jewel on the crown is being preserved for future
generations.
It seems like I keep repeating myself: the
hospitality of this country is unlimited. In the evening, over a glass of
excellent Sauvignon Blanc (and that alone is good enough reason for me to
consider immigration!), we reflect over the day. Not only do Adrienne and Don
offer me wonderful accommodation but, more importantly, a listening ear and a
lot of advice. I feel so fortunate that fate has brought me this way.
Time is putting the days like pearls on a
string: the cord of my journey is one, which is determined by the many
impressions and experiences I have encountered. I will wear it for the rest of
my life as a symbol of the total transformation my life has gone through.Meeting people, that is the mainspring of my
existence needless to say that travelling provided the ideal platform for
this.
Today, I am being introduced to Marcus who
is about to pick up a job at the AucklandWarMemorialMuseum. A driven man with
a vision and a palpable enthusiasm to fulfil his job to the best of his
ability. When saying goodbye, it crosses my mind, how lucky a man he is: his
career has been given an unexpected twist, which gives him the chance to
develop himself to the most. It doesnt take long to make the link to my own
life: perhaps I am, just like Marcus, on the eve of a new direction in my
life?
Although New
Zealand is a lot smaller than Oz, it is still a lot
bigger than Belgium.
Is that why it doesnt even amaze me any more when Don tells me, it takes more
than one hour to drive to his office. The winding road we follow, runs along
steep cliffs on one side and deep ravines on the other. Too bad the clouds are
hanging so low, making it impossible to take any pictures. When my host tells
me that he likes to hit the accelerator, it brings a smile to my face: my
brother used to drive a rally car, so when it comes to speed, I am used to
something!
Back in Wellington, I am heading to the Ministry of
Heritage and Culture since I have a lecture scheduled for the historians
working there, reason enough to render me nervous. Well known names such as
Glyn Harper, John Crawford and Ian McGibbon are in the audience: all of them
being experts in military history. Lecturing to such an audience always sets me
sharp: I just want to prove that I know my stuff too!
Yesterday, I ended up in a new family:
Elizabeth and John and their 2 lovely teenage daughters, who undoubtedly
deserve an award for most active girls in the region: hockey, polo, ballet they
do it all! Fact is that I need to start up a database with all the names of the
families which have hosted me over the last 6 months quite a long list that
will end up to be.
A very early start this morning, since I
have a lecture in a school in Lower Hutt. A
teacher, with the unusual name Corone, collects me in order to take me to this
private school.A beautiful building, a
disciplined public and grateful teachers: enough for me to leave for Wellington again with a
very happy feeling.
Every now and then, I reflect on the past.
Two years ago I had no travel experience at all; I knew nothing of that great
world surrounding me. My journey has not only proven to be one of many miles,
more than that, it has become a journey of emotions. Everyone, who has been in
a similar situation, will recognise that it is not all that simple to leave
everything behind. It is not all that easy to close the door behind you,
knowing only too well that it will never open again. It is quite frightening to
come to the realization that suddenly you end up being all alone in the world.
Of course I have my children but as long as they can not see that life is more
than just black or white, I have to sit back patiently. I can still feel the
uncertainty weighing on my shoulders, when realising that from now on, I have
to guarantee myown future. At the age
of 53 and with no degree, I am very much aware of the fact that the path, I
have chosen to walk on, will not always prove to be a smooth one.
For those amongst you, who doubt what life
has to offer , I have only one advice: follow your heart.My heart told me that I was dying of
loneliness. And no, I have no alternative (although the gossip in the village
was that I have someone waiting for me in every country) but I ended up being
trapped in a situation, where I had nothing more to lose: either I died a
little more from day to day or ventured to leap from the cliffs, hoping that
I could swim by the time I hit the water. I am going for option nr 2 and can
now whole heartedly say that I have no regrets.
Enough talk for now. Soon I will take the
bus (always a fun exercise to find out which one) to return to the family I am
staying with. Provided I can get online, I will upload this story, hoping it
can captivate you Charlottes
story is one of many episodes!
After a far too early start of the day, I
have made it without any problems to Wellington.
However, for a while I wasnt too sure about a safe arrival. Whilst the flight
was an uneventful one, the landing didnt really classify as such.Or better said: thedescending towards the airport could be
described as different. At some stage, it felt as if we were all seated in a huge
rocking chair: moving from left to right. As far as I am concerned, this was
the strongest turbulence, I have ever experienced. Great fun, since I am
convinced that the pilots would like to get home safely. In other words: they
will do whatever they can to bring us safely to our destination. The actual
landing was one for the textbooks: we barely sensed the plane hitting the
tarmac.The pilots of Air New Zealand have proven to be worth of their wings!
A new
city, a new contact and a completely new environment:
all ingredients for a fascinating day. I was being collected by my host for the
next couple of days, who very courteously offered me a breakfast(the biscuitI had been given on the plane was just about adequate to keep me alive).
I have no idea whether the weather gods are trying their very best to remind me
of Belgium
but fact is that rain has been following me since days. On top of that, Wellington lives up to its nickname: Windy Wellington from now on, I
dont doubt for a split second whether this name is justified. Considering the
fact that it is not particularly fun to walk in the rain, I was being offered a
guided tour by car. The start of the
tour took me to Mount Victoria (the name Victoria is prominent
everywhere in the English speaking world). Whilst I declared that Belgians are
used to something when it comes to dealing with strong winds,I can openly say that I will not be so
convincing next time! Reaching the top of the hill, I was just short of being
blown off.An ice-cold Southern wind was
blowing more fiercely than anything I have ever experienced leaving my opinion
on Flemish winds to be reviewed!Nevertheless, it was more than worth the effort to come this way: the
view on Wellington
from here is just phenomenal. Unlike Auckland,
this city is of a much compacter lay-out. Water has been an always present
feature during my trip in the Southern hemisphere, so here too, the ocean is to
be seen at all times. Where as the airport (which has the reputation being one
of the most difficult ones to land throughout the world, due to the high winds)
stretches out on one side, the harbour and the city are neatly encapsulated in
front of us. Our journey continues with aguided tour in the city centre in order to head towards Eastbourne,
where one gets to see Wellington
from a completely different perspective.
The day comes to an end with a delicious
dinner and a very long chat with my new hosts: Zane and Penny.
Yesterday morning, I was expected for an
informal chat with a number of historians. No doubt about it that their
knowledge on the involvementof
New-Zealand forces is much larger than mine. However, I have practical
knowledge on the Salient, linked to the past we share.
A gab of one hour and a half before my next
meeting, just allows me to have a stroll to the old St-Pauls cathedral, the
very first one I have ever seen, which has completely been built of wood. The
building dates from 1860 but has been extended several times throughout time.
The craftsmanship which has been invested here is simply stunning: it must
impress every visitor, taking the time to explore this jewel of architecture.
Being talkative as I am, I doesnt take me long to establish contact with the
conservator of this cathedral (which is no longer being used as such): a
private guided tour is the icing on the cake!
On to the next meeting: the National Archives,
where I will be guided by one of the 10 historians, currently working there.
Graham explains to me the kind of information, that can be obtained from the
archives and how they can play an essential part for families, searching for
information on their relatives, who fought in the Great War. At present, it
proves to be a bit of a maze since all the files of soldiers, who fought in the
second world war as well, are stored elsewhere. On top of that they are facing
a tremendous challenge: all battalion diaries are still to be catalogued: a
task, which will keep them occupied for many more months to come!
A quick stop at the residence of my hosts
gives me the opportunity to freshen up a bit, before heading back to town. A
lecture for the Wellington RSA branch is on my schedule. My talk is running
very smoothly despite the fact that my remote control, decides to give up on me
that very moment. Having faced all kinds of problems on my journey, this
set-back is not going to stop me. More than an hour and a half later, I am
being approached by several people, expressing their gratitude. Several of them
are in the stage of planning a trip to the Western Front: my talk has only
increased their appetite even more.
On our return: Penny surprises us with a
lovely dinner: the ideal moment of the day to catch up. Asking my host for
honest feedback on my presentation, he tells me that I have a spelling error in
my power point (shame on me!): one which I should have noticed myself, a long
time ago. Added to that, he tells me that he was impressed by the unique
viewpointof my talk and the passion
with which I bring the story. He advices me to pick up a pen and to get started
writing the book, I have in mind This chat makes me doubt where I will
eventually find a new future: should I decide to retire into a room to write or
should I pick up the job on the cruise ship, sharing my knowledge with that
many people? In all honesty I havent decided yet, which path to choose.
An early start today, since my host has to
attend a meeting. We enjoy our breakfast in a local coffee shop, after which I
tend to my mail (at long last I have found a place that offers WIFI, one does stand
a bigger chance to find a clover,I believe!) At 11 am, I have a meeting with a group of
historians, focussing on the commemoration events for 2014-2018. Many questions
are coming my way but since I was not properly informed, what this meeting was
about beforehand, there are a number of questions I can not provide an answer
for.
A couple of hours later... I have just
visited the Beehive, the new parliaments house: an example of modern architecture,
which doesnt impress me too much though. The round shape makes me reflect that
efficiency wasnt really a priority in the 1960 s. The guided tour, which I
can heartily recommend to everyone, was being spiced by a New-Zealand lady, who
was testing the patience and the knowledge of the guide continuously. A test he
passed with flying colours!
Right now, I am sitting in the railway
station and guess what no WIFI here either. So I continue to write this blog
in a word document, hoping to be able to upload it later on tonight.
Wellington has left a very positive impression on me: a very clean and easy to
navigate city. The compact size of the city results in the fact that basically
everything is within walking distance. In this cosy beehive, one sees a large
diversity of people walking by. It does catch my attention that Maoris are very
well integrated in society.
As you can see, I didnt manage to up-date
my blog yesterday. Neil, whom I met at the railway station in Masterton, took
me directly to the archives, where my audience was already waiting for me. To
my very pleasant surprise, I catch up with some of my former guests at Varlet
Farm, some of them having driven for more than one and a half hours to meet me.
I renders me quiet
After some confusion about where I will
spend the night, I end up with a young couple, that welcomes me in a very warm
way into their family. Day after day, newspapers are reporting on whatever goes
wrong in this world. The warmth, friendship, hospitality that people offer to
each other doesnt make it in the written press. If I were a journalist, this
is the message, I would like to share: believe in the good of human beings!
This is a report written in a hotel room,
close to Aucklands Airport: I have an early
flight to catch to Wellington
tomorrow morning.
My first stop yesterday was in the largest
high school in the Southern hemisphere. No explanation needed to convince me of
the factthat this school was of a more
than average size: none less than 3000 youngsters fill these classrooms, all of
them neatly in uniform since that doesnt differ from Australian schools. This
school had given me a 2 hours timing, which is sheer luxury since it allows me
to set the frame of the Great War before starting up the real story. For these
youngsters, it is not only a story set back far in time, on top of that it is a
story a long way away from their world. Nothing of this stops their attention
though: for nearly 2 hours they are focussed for 200 %. Despite the size of
these schools, I do notice that these schools are sticking to a fairly strict
discipline, what is rather unusual in the Southern hemisphere.
It would be unfair to claim that lecturing
is a hard job so a light lunch is more than adequate for us (mmm,delicious bread over here!) before we set off
to our next appointment : a high school of a much smaller scope. Since these
youngsters will be visiting the Western Front next year, I am assured of an
interested audience. A cosy chat with teenagers of whom several step forward to
thank me personally. Nothing can compensate the warm feeling I get when
experiencing sincere gratitude.
Clear enough I am not the only Belgian who
has headed to NZ: I spent yesterday evening with a mixed Belgian-New-Zealand
couple. Lode thoughtful asked me what I preferred for dinner.Three guesses? Steak and fries of course,
that is a dead giveaway! Being Belgian, he has a true electric fryer,the first one I have seen for months. Our Belgian farmers swear by their blue-white cattle
when it comes to producing a juicy steak. No breed
like that around here but nevertheless the meat melts in your mouth. Dont ask
me for the secret: all I can say is that, when it comes to flavour and
tenderness, no doubt about it, this meat beats the Belgian steak easily.
Yesterday I saw the largest school, today I
witnessed the largest traffic jam! Having left in plenty of time to cover the
distance, it took us more than 1.45 hours time to arrive at our destination we
could have cycled the distance in that time! The purpose of our trip was a private
high school on the other side of town, one of architectural extremes. On the
one hand side, there was the historic central building, beautifully restored,
shining in all its grandeur, surrounded
by the most modern school buildings, I have seen so far. To my surprise the
class consisted almost entirely of Asian students, which made me doubt whether
I would be able to capture their attention. It very soon dawned on me that
these youngsters were especially interested in obtaining facts and data well,
I have provided them with lots of it. Some of the students have made that many
notes during my lecture, that they will be busy for quite a while, absorbing
all the information.
After a coffee stop at Sandis mother (whom
could almost be mistaken to be Sandis elder sister: she looks stunning!) I
finally arrive at my hotel:a more than
pleasant surprise this is. Although it would not fit under the heading
luxurious accommodation, this place offers me a bedroom, a separate kitchen
and a bathroom for a ridiculously small price. A winner as far as I am
concerned.
It will be a short and lonely evening for
me: short because tomorrow, my day starts at 4.30 am in the morning and lonely
since this will be the first night since months that I am not staying with a
host family. On the bright side: plenty of time to blog, which I hope you all
enjoy!
I would be very happy to hear what you
think of my blog. If you would like to ventilate
your opinion: please send me an e-mail or sign the guestbook (gastenboek) on my
blog. With my limited knowledge of technology, I had not even noticed that some
had already left a comment there. Where as I have not responded to those
reactions, I promise to keep an eye on it now: so rest assured, I will reply!
Eager to learn your opinions, I draw to and
end, sending you all my warmest regards
Here we go again: just another stop in an
airport. I have writtenseveral times
that this is a habitat where I feel fine, although I would hasten to add that Brisbane Airport will leave me with a less
positive impression.
Is it because of the fact that I am on an
international flight, that there is no self check-in? Just when I finally have
the feel of these machines? The only way to get a boarding pass proves to be
queue in a very long line, which only shortens agonizingly slow.
Once I reached the head of the row, the
clerk wants to know every detail of my itinerary. Oops, that information is
buried in my carry on luggage much to my happiness I manage to dig up the
requested document, proof that I am not an illegal traveller who surreptitiously
tries to get on board. Next point of discussion: my little blue suitcase, which
has by now been around half on the globe without any problems, is considered to
be too heavy. Air New
Zealand has reduced the maximum weight to 7 kg. I know I am in trouble when
deposing my favourite travel kit on the scale the gauge of the scale sweeps
unceremoniously to 11 kg.
No chance to get away with this: so in front of a long queue of people, I have
to re-arrange my luggage ending up with a bunch of paper work in a plastic bag.
My Flemish logic tells me that I am still carrying the same amount of weight
though.
It is with a sad feeling that I bear
goodbye to my hosts. Even the kookaburras have said goodbye to me: with a
thundering laughter in my ears, I leave the country which from the very start,
left a deep impression on me. The past three months have been marvellous, a
revelation all the way, a discovery which has given me some wisdom. I say a
very sincere Thank you to my many Australian hosts. I have experienced your
hospitality as the strongest asset of this rough country. Having tasted it so
many times, I already feel I need to return for more
My stay in Oz was rounded off with a
dinner, to which a friend of the family had been invited as well. An evening
full of pranks and jokes, since both Charles and Elizabeth have a more than
adequate dose of Australian humour. I have to admit, that although I have been
exposed to this peculiar humour for several months now, I still dont manage to
keep pace with it. It makes me conclude that my Belgian sense of humour is open
to improvement!
On my journey through beautiful Australia, I
have met many remarkable people. Sure enough my last host family fits in that
category too. I do share Charless passion for the Great War, albeit from a
different viewpoint. He is an artist (in Oz, I have met more people with a
creative mind than anywhere else in the world), who, armed with a camera, tries
to capture this part of history to save it for future generations. A number of
his pictures are to he seen on his website http://www.centenaryofWW1.com
Where as I have the gift to bring the
message across with words, he surely knows how to capture his audience with
images. Am I allowed to say that I do envy his gift?
Meantime, a couple of more days have gone
by. I honestly struggle to upkeep both my blogs since time just flies away. Sandi,
has picked me up at the airport and after a short walk on one of the 36
volcanoes on which Auckland
is built, she took me to my new hosts: a family I have never met before but I
had that instant connection with them. Chris and Georgina
have welcomed me with open arms: to make me feel part of the family, they had
even organised a dinner party that evening with other members of the
Passchendaele Society. I ended up, being seated next to Mike, a (scattered)
professor, who proved to be a very pleasant table companion. A man with an
incredible knowledge, although being a kiwi, he was extremely modest. My first
evening in this country is overwhelming. The many Aussies, who predicted that I
might get hooked on their extra state (as they teasingly refer to NZ) could
be right: the start is very promising indeed.
Yesterday was a day of concentration. A select
audience was going to attend my lecture in the AucklandWarMemorialMuseum.
For some unknown reason, I am struggling with nerves more than I have ever done
before. Not a major problem as long as they dont undermine my self-confidence.
I started quite hesitantly but once I got the feel, I soon landed on my feet
and delivered a good talk. The knowledge that this lecture was being filmed
must have played a part as well: I just dont feel confident in front of a
camera.
After my presentation, I ended up being
approached by several people, who wanted to express how much they had enjoyed
the talk. Just a couple of days before I did my talk, Glyn Harper (one of NZ
best known historians) presented a talk here. Hearing that from the audience
that they had enjoyed my lecture as much as Glyns I can not deny that I felt
a bit of pride raising to the surface. I have not forgotten where I came from
nor where I want to move to: in other words, I still have a long way to go!
After the lecture, I was guided by the curator
of the museum. A very friendly, knowledgeable lady, who spoke with great feeing
about the relationship between both our countries.
July 21st: Belgiums National Day Where else but in a
Belgian beer café can one go for a meal when being in Auckland? Although Belgian, I am not a beer
drinker: whilst my hosts were enjoying the Belgian beers, I was supporting
their economy by drinking Pinot Gris (it doesnt always have to be Sauvignon
Blanc). Since I can not deny my roots, I have eaten French fries on quite a few
occasions during my trip. No where on the planet have I found our national
pride prepared like here: just to die for. And I am not even mentioning the
home made mayonnaise!
Today has been a quiet day: a lazy morning
followed by a visit to Helen Pollock, whose artwork was put on display in the
Memorial Museum Passchendaele 1917
in 2007. I was so lovely to catch up with Helen again,
even more so since we are like minded spirits.A few years ago she too had to take drastic decisions. In Helen I found
a kindred spirit, who knows what it means having to live with a curtailed
freedom
The day came to an end with a private tour
of the NavyMuseum. A new revelation to me, which
soon makes me realise how little (and that is putting it mildly) I know of NZ
history. The museum is small but nevertheless fascinating:I could easily have spent a couple of extra
hours in there. As so very often on this trip, I am lacking time. If only I
could stop the clock: there are countless times that I would have used my powers!
And now its really bedtime for me. Two
lectures in schools on my schedule for tomorrow no rest for the wicked!
High and dry in the dark night on my way to
Brisbane, that
is where I am right now
The past few days just flew by, days which
will have left a lasting impression on me. I find it hard to find the words to
describe the warmth which Jo and John have given me. Over 10 years ago, when
they came to Varlet Farm for the very first time, we did connect immediately
and although the contact diluted a bit over the years, that same feeling was
there again from the very minute I arrived. That is the beauty of friendship, a
minute or a 10 years it doesnt really make a difference, one can pick up the
thread immediately.
Monday morning that means that another
working weeks started up for my hosts. So for me that meant I was going to be
alone during the day. One thing I have learned in the recent months is the
knowledge that being alone is not the same as feelinglonely. I have learned to appreciate the
silence that surrounds me, although I do realise just as well that the hunger
to meet people will never be far away.
Having spent several hours of writing (I am
sure I can compete with an office lady, diligently attacking her paperwork), I
decided to fill the afternoon with a walk. Without a map, I means that I need
to concentrate on anchor points, in order to know where I am. No church spires
here, which help you orientating yourselves. Instead, loads of trees but they
all look very much alike!
A brisk walk took me to the golf course and
that proved to be a double blessing: social contact on top of the beautiful
nature! From my hostess, I had learned that there was a botanical garden nearby
but not being able to find a sign, I just walked up to an avid golfer to ask
for directions. A more than surprised look followed by a torrent of words and I
ended up being a bit wiser again: there proved to be a small zoo as well
Small surely does justice to my
description of the zoo. Although I would refer to it as a hidden gem having a
nice part of rainforest bang in the middle. As to the amount of animals, let me remain
diplomatic by saying that it wasnt overwhelming but that was nicely balanced
out by 3 living teddy bears, which one could approach from close by. Needless
to say that I had no intention of missing out on a beautiful picture of a
koala. More than half an hour later, I was willing to claim that they all had
been given a training how to turn away from the camera! It took me endlessly
to get the picture below and then to say that they dont even move fast!
No kangaroos, no monkeys ( the cages were
being renewed) but a whole bunch of colourful birds, one louder than the other.
Definitely worth the visit!
Retracing my steps, I ended up at the golf
course again: a man in his early forties was putting, with almost military
precision, one ball after the other. Enough to arouse my curiosity of course.
In the chat that followed, I learned that he was a professional golf player
from Melbourne,
who had come to Rockhampton to participate in a tournament, a trip of more than
2000 km.
Wondering how one can play golf every day, he replied that this was the only
way to success. Well, no career as a golfer for me! Hitting a ball for hours on
a day to get the feel . Having been born with a chronic lack of patience: the
perfect outset on the road to disaster! Where as golf is listed as an elite
sport in our country, it appears to be a popular pastime for the average
Australian. The Mike Tysons are scarce in this world I soon learn that the
average pro doesnt dream of big money. Having a meagre income is widely being
compensated by the many trips to distant destinations. Hm, that is the part of
golf I do like!
On Tuesday, I was in for a new challenge. A
relative of my hosts proves to be an avid fisherman. Once a successful lawyer,
today he is one of the purest natural man, I have ever met. I have been invited
to join in for a day of whiting fishing, which means that I return yet again
towards the coast: a very different part of coast however. Being befriended
with the owner of the pastures behind the coastal line, Jef has the keys to
open all the locks on the gates, giving us access to endless meadows. I feel as
if I am stepping in the scenery of The Thorn Birds(remember the series with Richard
Chamberlain, more than 25 years ago ) . The four times four makes its way over
muddy paths, at times barely visible. At some point a mob of roos appeared out
of the blue right in front of us: happily hopping around as if they hadnt even
noticed the car.I wonder whether
experienced reporters of nature documentaries would still feel the same
adrenaline rush as I did on that very moment???
After more than half an hour of ploughing
through the mud, we finally reached our destination: a pristine beach of more
than 20 km
length, with not a living soul to be spotted for hours around. The grey skies
impaired visibility but I can assure you that this must be as close as one can
get to earthly paradise! The nets are dragged out of the car and Jef with his
friend (whom we picked up just before heading for the beach), wade in the
water. I should have had my picture taken: luckily there was no one else to be
seen as with my oversized shorts, T-shirt and jacket (in trendy colours!) and a
hat to make the image complete, I know that I would have drawn the attention
John and Jo had insisted that I did use the sunscreen even when I replied that
the sun was currently hiding in the US. They pointed out that the UV
radiation is nowhere on this planet any higher than in Oz , something which
results in an unusually high number of skin cancers. Whilst the men are
dragging the net in a semi-circular move, I am convinced that my milky white
legs have deterred every fish within a radius of 500 meters Except for a
stingray the catch is not of the type to feed the hungry: only 6 whiting end up
in the eski. The stingray is one of the kind that killed, Steve Irwin, known as
the crocodile man, quite a few years ago. He survived playing around with
deadly crocodile to die as a result of an attack of a stingray. Bad luck was
his deal on that day since the spine hit him in the heart, causing instant
death.
Thoroughly wet, we headed back to the beach
house, where Jef filleted the whiting, handing it over to me with the necessary
cooking instructions. Am I wrong in assuming that he doesnt trust my grey
cells too much? Just before he bids farewell, I am being instructed to tell Jo
to give him a ring to learn the recipe directly from him. All I can say is that
Jef, hadnt he been a lawyer, could easily have gone for a career as a cook:
his recipe is one of the highest order the whiting simply melts in the mouth.
Barely 6 hours after their unfortunate end in a net on the beach, they caress
my taste buds with a flavour, which I will probably never experience again.
The last day in Oz is one filled with some
sadness. The realisation that I am about to leave this friendly country behind,
is throwing me back in time. Less than 7 months ago, I stood at the beginning
of this adventure, which undoubtedly will have a permanent effect on the rest
of my life. Some lessons are just not being thought at school Let it be clear
that those are the ones, which will stay with me forever.
For those amongst you, who believe that a long
journey as mine proves to be, leads from one highlight to another: let me
puncture that dream. On the other hand: who am I do to so, when realising that
I am all, except for the role model of the average tourist.
My exploration is rather a journey in
search of the values of the society in which I find myself. Visiting sites is
not really my thing as after all, in most cases, an image is presented to you,
which does not even radiate the real spirit of a country. Give me the real
world please
All I can say is that the real world
surprises me most of the time. Jo, my hostess, showed me around their beautiful
house and then enthroned me to her secret room: a room where all her
creativity comes to life. Walking into it, I spotted all kinds of different
fabrics, feathers, tulle and god knows what else. It soon dawns on me that Jo
has a very special hobby: in her spare times, she designs hats. I become
speechless (and that means something to those of you who know me) when she
shows me some of the work she has made. Why is someone which such a creative
mind, trapped in an office job? That is the question that springs to my mind.
Today, Jo is selling hats throughout the world, just have a look at her website
on www.etsy.com/lillianlovehats
. This lady fills me with awe.
Gosh, I do enjoy my stay here, even though
the weather is trying its very best to remind me of the Belgian summer: in
other words, it rains! Not that it makes much of a difference to me: with
exception of the sporting event of yesterday, all the rest happens indoors.
As reported, my first stop yesterday took
me to the local sport grounds, where the son of my hosts is a member of the Australian
Rules team. Even after a 3 months stay in Oz, I have to confess that I still
dont master the rules. Somehow, the intention is to get the elliptical ball
between the posts on the other side. Only 10 meters may be bridged
holding the ball in the hands after that it has to be passed on either kicking
or hitting it with the fist (no throwing allowed). Other than that, it seems
that everything is allowed above the belt. Last nights downpour had recreated
the field in a real quagmire, making the game resemble some artistic form of
water ballet at times but ultimately, the kids had great fun. The fact that
they lost the match brilliantly didnt even seem to make much of a difference.
Time for a quick lunch before making our
way to the coast. We were expected at a housewarming party, a social event with
the necessary drinks and the inevitable barbecue. I get the taste of this
country more and more and not only though the sausages! A long journey back
(very unlikely that we would have covered the distance to Brussels for such a meeting!) and time to go
to bed wondering whether I am in for another warm night last night the
temperature didnt even drop below 20 °C! And then to say that Jo had brought me
an extra blanket: having read that I had struggled with the cold nights in Australia, she
just wanted to assure that this wasnt going to be the case in Rockhampton. Not
a chance to feel cold here, not in a million years!
This morning we were expected at the
neighbours for a breakfast. Rain, rain, rain but the temperature remains high,
so we all sit on the terrace. It turns out to be a fascination meeting with
several neighbours, although I am soon to learn that this word has a slightly
different interpretation here: one couple lives some 300 km away. They prove to
be farmers, who used to grew watermelons but ever since that market collapsed,
they switched to growing cotton. Sitting at the breakfast table I learn that
they are spending a week in their town house before returning to the farm.
But even then, they dont live on the property: their home is in on the edge of
the settlement where as they have managers living on the premises. Ok, this is
something one doesnt learn in a tourist brochure!
Meanwhile, we are back home. It will be a
calm afternoon, enjoying a quiet Sunday. This morning Darcy, (the son of the
family) departed on a school trip to Sydney,
which is being described as economical education. The youngsters will be
visiting the stock market and Chinatown. I can
not even imagine that Flemish youngsters would be flying 1400 km for this purpose!
When will I come to understand that distance is measured in a different way
here???
A little bouncer Yesterday, I received an
e-mail, pointing my attention to a newspaper article on Varlet Farm, which had appeared
on a forum. I can not deny being unpleasantly surprised over the fact that a
journalist, who takes himself seriously, doesnt even seem to see the need to talk
to all parties involved. It wouldnt be difficult at all for me to rectify some
on the information provided in the article. Having said that: if people prefer
to gossip, who am I to deny that pleasure to them? Professionalism seems to be
word that doesnt mean to much to this journalist. It surely covers a wide area
(or perhaps not? ), doesnt it???
I have left rainy Brisbane behind me, on my way to my next
destination. For the umpteenth time, I find myself in an airport, a habitat
where I really feel at home. That teenage dream of mine, of becoming a
stewardess one day, wasnt all that crazy after all, since I feel at my very
best amid the busy squirming, that is to characteristic of an airport.
Oho, this will be something else: the
plane, waiting on the tarmac, looks like a relic from a distant past, almost
like an oversized coffee grinder.In
reality, this is the Aussie equivalent of a bus. Given the fact that the
distances here are that much greater, it was a matter of searching the right
way of transport which means coffee grinders for short distances!
Yesterday, I have been able to experience
what loyalty means in the mind of a dog. Since my hostess had to catch an early
flight, I had been asked whether I would be willing to take care of little Ted,
meaning that I had to take him on his daily walk at 7 am in the morning. No
major problem to me, since this walking woollen ball has decided to consider me
as part of the family after my stay of 8 days. Full of enthusiasm, I get out of
bed at 6.45 am convinced as I am that someone is waiting for me.The magic word walking didnt go past
unnoticed: Ted started to dance wildly, ready to get rid of his energy (and a
full bladder) in the coming hour. To play on safe, I put him on a leash, one of
those flexible things, which gives him the freedom to explore the world in a
range of 10 meters.
The distance between the house and the woodland was being covered with the
necessary amount of pee stops, before we retreat in the tranquillity of the
green, far away from civilization. So far for the planning of the trip or
should I say MY planning. Once Ted had gone for a number two, he had his mind
set on returning home to check whether his mom hadnt returned yet. Well, no
matter how stubborn a little poodle can prove to be, I for one, had not got out
of bed for a walk of barely a 100 meters. Right now, I only wish that I had
put his little face on film!Bad luck
for him as he clearly hadnt realised that Belgian stubbornness outperforms him
with a couple of sizes! I simply lifted the little one and turned him a 180 °C, saying This is the
way we will go! Was it my voice or the fact he had been turned around??? Fact
is that his logic soon made him realise who was on the winning side. For the
past few days, I have often been walking in this forest although I was always
being led by my hostess where as now I had to find my own way in this maze of
paths and roads With a very reluctant little dog, staying 2 meters behind me, I hit
the road. After a few miles, Ted started to like it : he came just next to me
with a wagging tale, making clear that this was good fun. The last couple of
miles, Ted actually took over the lead, guiding me home, proving his sense of
direction might just be that little bit better than mine!Where as we had set of on this walk in a
atmosphere of mistrust (at least from his side!), we returned as sworn
comrades. A lesson to be learned: put trust in your partner, give him/her time
and space to prove that they know what they are doing and believe that the
intentions to do the right thing are pure as they can be!
For the rest of the day, I keep myself
occupied, answering e-mails. When I sent the message to all my guests,
informing them of the fact that I was leaving Varlet Farm, I had never
suspected what a storm of reactions that would cause. In a few weeks time, I
received over 400 e-mails months later, I am still trying to catch up with
everyone.
The morning walk must have suited Ted very
well: at 4 oclock, he approaches me, almost begging for another walk. At that
time the rain is coming down heavier than I have ever seen before let it be
clear that not all the rainwater is being splashed over Belgium!
Had someone ever told me that, one day, I
would be walking a dog in a downpour, somewhere in a wood in Brisbane I know what I would have said at
the time!
Never say never that is what I stick to
from now on A very wet poodle (who has no objection) and as far as I am
concerned, ditto feet, that is what I remember of this walk, just as as well as
the feeling that everything is possible, on the condition that you are willing
to put in an effort to meet the challenge.
High and dry, above the clouds, that is
where I am now. Bad luck forme, since
the plane is barely half full, there isno one in the seat next to me. Not to worry, in a good half an hours
time, I will get to Rockhampton, my destination for today. I will keep you
posted!
Half a day later The reunion with John and
Jo (after 10 years!) was more than cordial. This country has something to offer
to it s visitors: a hospitality which is so sincere that it is rare to be
found in these hectic times, we all live in. Leaving Australia
behind next week, I am wondering whether New Zealand will be able to surpass
this warm and hospitable feeling
The day was rounded of with a fundraising
meal for the club of lifeguards (it made John smile, asking if they were the
equivalent of Bay Watch). In reality this club does a lot more; it organises
events for children, it makes them aware of the dangers of the ocean, it trains
youngsters to be fit and encourages them to take up some responsibility. The
meal proved to be excellent, as was the company. In other words : an evening
not to be forgotten.
This very moment, I am sitting on the patio
(8.30 am), enjoying the view over Rockhampton (approximately 70000
inhabitants). Cloudy skies but that can not be a worry: the temperatures are
close to 20 °C!
And that is what they call winter over here!
Time to shoot off as I am invited to attend
a match of Australian Rules. Since the son of my hosts is an avid player, I
will get an opportunity to see from close by what this sport means. The huge
hole in my culture, when it comes to sports, will thus end up being a little
bit smaller
This has got to be the first Flemish
holiday, I am celebrating a long way from home. In all honesty, if it werent
for the fact that there was a reference to it on facebook, I wouldnt even have
known. Somehow it amazes me that, barely half a year after I left the country,
I have lost the bond with the homeland. I dont feel the desire to remain
informed on Belgian politics ( when it comes to politics, it seems to be very
much alike in every country) and whilst I do enjoy, receiving news from the area I used to live, I am not
really eager to learn about what is going on in daily life over there. In all
fairness, I do enjoy to receive reactions to my blog from anywhere in the world
No doubt about it that this is the quietest
week I have enjoyed in the last 5 months. Holidays, written out in capital
letters! Relaxing all the way! I had been warned that it would take me several
weeks to kick off of the hectic life I used to live. I can only agree with that
statement. Fact is that I have been living without doing any hard physical work
for months now (doing dishes does not meet that description). In the early
stages of my trip, my hands were often tickled to be active, it almost felt as
if I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. The hardest part however, was to
adjust mentally to the changed situation. Only since this week, do I feel that
my mind is truly free. I can now enjoy doing nothing without hearing that
little devils voice in my head addressing to me reproachfully I am now
sufficiently hardened to make all choices, no longer feeling guilty by the
reaction of the outside world. Sorry folks, I am definitely past that stage
now.
The calm before the storm, that is how I
would describe this week. Although, a flight to Rockhampton on Friday, can not
be described as a storm. It will get a lot busier for me when flying to Auckland, New
Zealand, next week Friday as I do have a
wonderful busy program awaiting me there and that sure is something I look
forward to. Twiddling my thumbs is nothing for me really.
How many times have I been told that
travelling broadens the view? Having been a layman in this field for all of my
life, I guess I can now claim that I have earned my spurs. Earlier tonight, the
first line of a poem by Shakespeare, came to my mind
This above all:
to thine own self be true
This will be my motto from now on. I finally
found my balance; it feels as if I have been reborn in this earthly life. Yesterday,
one of my contacts mentioned that Edith Piafs song Non, je ne regrette rien
was his motto. Ill stick to that one as well from now on!
Phew, a blog without travel impressions
this time. Rather one with impressions of the soul and believe me when saying
these feelings are anchored in my heart.
Sunday evening (for me anyway): time to put
an end to a wonderful weekend.
The last couple of days have mainly been
filled in with walking and talking. Having spent considerable time at the coast
it was about time that I got to some healthy forest air. Needless to say that I
praise myself lucky with the knowledge that my hosting family lives just
opposite a small forest.
Twice a day, my hostess and myself ,
accompanied by little Ted ( an apricot poodle, who turns everyone around his
little paw, so to speak) wonder off for a refreshing walk. And although the
forest doesnt seem to be the habitat of many animals, I have seen some exotic
birds here:the latest addition to the
row was a bird with a bright green jacket on The kookaburras were very diligent
yesterday: one laughter after another echoed through the forest. One simply can
not but start laughing when you hear this special cry.
And spoken of birds: my hostess really has
a very special gift when it comes to dealing with animals. She told me that 2
butcher birds had become so tame that every morning they came tapping against
the kitchen window until they ended up being fed. Well this morning, I was able
to witness that with my own eyes. Tap tap against the window is the sign for
Meredith to walk outside to hand feed these birds. How on earth she managed to
get them used to her presence so very close to them is still a miracle to me!
Yesterday morning I was invited to pick up
some local colour as Meredith invited me to come along to a local farmers
market. In the centre of Brisbane???
In the end it proves to be a major fruit and vegetable market , with only 2
real farmers selling their produce directly. This is clearly not an European
market: the rich palette of flavours is being surpassed by the diversity of the
many stalls. From Greek to Japanese, with Korean French, German, Thai, Indian,
Italian, Indonesian.. it is all to be found within a 100 meters. The morning
feels like a warm Belgian summer day. Theoretically, I missed summer this year,
having flown from the Canadian spring to the Australian winter, but in reality
I have experienced more sunny days than those who stayed behind.
In the afternoon, I really felt the need to
roll my sleeves up, having been lazy for far too long. So I ended up washing my
hostess car a skill I might risk to loose! As there was a little crack in the
hose, the car wasnt the only one getting wet. Not that this represents any
problem: in less than half an hour, my trousers are dry again. Sure enough this
is the type of weather I could get used to! Since my shoes prove to be rather
soaked, I decided to leave them outside, trusting that the sun would be kind
enough to get those dry too.
Saturday evening, Charles and Meredith had
invited me to join them to the theatre. The play that was on, combined drama
with dance and was situated in New
York of the twenties. Oh yes, why not? An extra dose
of culture, surely wont hurt me. The play started rather hectic, sometimes
difficult to follow, but the story came gradually to life in what proved to be
a very intense performance. Dance and drama, combined with truly sublime
mimicry, were very nicely intertwined. My only problem was that I failed to
understand some of the puns, which were clearly funny, according to the
reaction of the audience. I still have a very long way to go when it comes to
refining my knowledge of the English language, that is the lesson learned that
evening.
Those of you who know me, will realise that
there is one thing you can not expect of me: don t drop me in a group of
people, expecting that I will remain silent! Of course, I kept quiet during the
show, but I got into a very animated conversation with the couple sitting just
next to me. As it happened the husband was bitten by the WW I bug as well, and
hearing that I was giving lectures on the subject, he immediately asked whether
I would be willing to present a talk to his organisation during the coming
weeks. My hostess, who overheard the conversation, jokingly said: You would
sell coals to Newcastle!
to which I laughingly replied No, what about chocolate to Belgians!.
When walking back to the car, I am
surprised over the fact that the temperatures are still that high, which is
rather unusual here. The answer is to be found in the fact that clouds were
acting as a blanket, preventing the heat to escape. Well that was something new
to me: clouds in the sky in Brisbane
I had already start to believe that no one knew what that word meant over here.
A cup of hot chocolate sets me off to bed
for a good night sleep, the tune of the show still being played in my head. But
a very different tune wakes me up well after midnight: a tremendous downpour,
rattling on the roof as a heavy machine gun. Immediately, it comes to my mind
that I had left my shoes outside oops, they are destined to become to
additional small buckets. The last thing I want to do is to disturb the sleep
of my hosts and then it is too late to contain the damage anyway. I might as
well pour the water out of my shoes in the morning
Guess what was my first task in the
morning??? I rush outside to find my shoes in perfect condition. Silly me!These roofs are coming a long distance in
front of walls as an extra protection against the summer sun. No reason to
panic at all! I should have taken the lesson already:in Oz there hardly ever seems to be a reason
for a panic!
My Australian adventure is almost coming to
an end: in 2 weeks time I will be flying to New Zealand, where I will be
spending another month. Very occasionally, some news from the world I left
behind, is being sent to me. It turns out that there are still people over
there, who are convinced that one day, I will be heading back home with my tail
in between my legs. Keep on dreaming (and/or gossiping) people, but this lady
is not coming back, that already I can assure you. I have left behind a world,
which has so very often limited me in so many ways. I know that some describe
me as silly, while others will think of me as a dreamer, and still other will
list me somewhere in between those extremes. All I can say is that I feel
liberated and that my inquisitive nature is finally getting a chance to develop
itself. It might be 35 years too late but doesnt the saying go Better late
than never?I still have so many plans
and dreams. Too bad this could not be done with the support of my family but
that wont stop me from fighting to get forward in life. There is still a very
long road ahead of me one which I am eager to explore!
Life is a rollercoaster and thats no
different when you travel. Or perhaps it is: in that way it all goes even
faster. Those past months have really flown by in a flash. The journey I have
been on has left a warm glow flowing through me, giving me inner peace and
confidence. But even then, every now and then, one is confronted with a lesser
day. That is the case when you realise that, someone whomyou have trusted blindly for over 30 years,
plants a knife in your back, in an attempt to ruin your life. The day on which
you learn that bitterness drives people beyond their moral standards. I am long
past the point of having pity, though the fact remains that it hurts to come to
a closure in such a bitter way.
Down under, there is a saying Bad luck, it
comes in threes, translated into Dutch that becomes No two without
three.Blow number two, I had as well,
so I wonder what is to follow next. Internet is a great medium, when used
wisely. However, it can become a lethal weapon if standards of decency are
being shamelessly thrown overboard. Without pretending that I am a saint, I
dare say that I have always been honest with people and I have always given my
trust easily. My vision is that every human being has a basic goodness, it is
only a matter to let that positive part of people develop further. Innocent
until proven guilty as I see it. Am I naïve to stick to this attitude?After what I read on the internet yesterday
(and that is of direct concern to myself) I can only say that my faith in people
has been hit badly. This trip of several months, proves to be a psychology
lesson for me. What is currently going on, will not break me, oh no. It just
gives me an extra layer of protective skin to prevent that I am struck again.
But hey, it is not all doom and gloom. On
Monday, I was planning to update my blogs (this must sound familiar to you). No
lack of inspiration but a constant struggle for time results that I am always
behind with my English blog. Lacking time doesnt seem to be my privilege since
my hostess was just as frantically trying to get her project (knitting a
sweater for her elderly father) finished before the cold weather would set in.
Hello? Cold in Queensland?
No Belgian believes that one when feeling the mid winter sun, under the cloudless
sky. One advice I can give to all Queensland
visitors to the Western front: schedule your visit for July or August. A
Belgian summer might with some luck surpass your winter days
Full of good intentions, I switched on my
laptop while Jill lets the needles tap in a steady rhythm. Until the first
coffee break: the perfect opportunity to set all the problems of this planet.
And since there are quite a few to deal with, Monday has flown by before we
realised. My blogs were not updated and that sweater well that might turn out
to be a gift for next winter!
Sure enough I can not stay in Brisbane without having
tasted the atmosphere of the city. On Tuesday, it is decided that the time has
come to boost my knowledge. The plan is to catch the city ferry on the Brisbane river. Those
catamarans, which have an astonishing speed and agility, can be regarded as our
local city busses. The captain doesnt have to convince me of his skills: it
almost feels as I have ended up in a Hollywood
production as this vessel is going at an unbelievable speed from one side of
the river to the other. After many wandering tours in other Australian cities,
it strikes me immediately, that this society is far less mixed. Everyone
seems to be Australian. Have I finally found the city with the purest grade of
Aussie culture???
We enjoy the view along the riverbanks:
stately homes, each with their own mooring for a boat. Although the size of
most houses here is larger than what I have seen so far, it is still below the
Belgian average. In all my travels, I have learned that in our tiny little
country, houses are large, whereas much more modest houses are being built in
countries where space limitation are not an issue. Would the saying that
Belgians are born with a brick in their stomach hold some truth?
Once ashore, we start exploring Brisbane on foot.
Amazingly enough, there is a small section of rainforest to be discovered right
in the city centre. No way that can be compared with a Belgian forest, that is
pretty clear. Venturing further, we end up is some type of walking and shopping
centre: green, spacious, beautiful flowers in bright colours: a Belgian summer
doesnt do any better than this. On our stroll, we pass a little ice cream
seller. Although I try to keep away from sweets, I am sure that one sin wont
kill me. Addressing to him, I ask whether it is possible to obtain an vanilla-
chocolate ice cream. All I get is a puzzled look and a no sorry Why not
hokey-pokey, maam? A what??? Okay, occasionally I do step out of my nutrition
comfort zone.. The next thing I know is that I am holding a yellowish ice
cream, ready to be put to the taste test. Dont even ask me what it is made
off just take my advice: if you ever get a chance to eat this, say YES to it!
Eating ice cream does leave on thirsty. So
the next stop ends up to be a coffee shop. The ubiquitous ibises literally land
on nose-length distance, ready to steal some food away. Jill decides to
surprise me with a carrot cake, a more than pleasant surprise! Forget about the
calories, we decide that we will walk those off in no time. Later, Steven comes
up with a better alternative : why not go for a career as a belly dancer
Our little exploration is completed when
Steven gallantly comes to pick us up to return back home. At that moment, Brisbane turns into a
traffic chaos, however, somehow it all keeps on flowing.
Once back home, the whole family gathers
for dinner. This is one of the very few places where dinner is eaten
together:a quiet moment in the day,
during which everyone share his experiences of the day with the others. For a
split moment, I am being thrown back in time, though it feels like ages ago
since I sat at a table with my family. The strongest memory is that I was not
even welcome at the table A marriage ending up in a divorce: that doesnt
happen from one day to the other
Meanwhile, it is Wednesday morning. I have
just arrived at the house of my new hosts for the next couple of days. A
totally different environment, though all in all, I have moved less than 10 km. This house is situated
in an oasis of green; it seems we are far away from the civilized world, though
this is only an illusion.I have no idea
what awaits me the next days. That too is travelling: looking at the world, with an open mind, and at
the opportunities this great world has to offer. And this is a lesson I have learnt: I take the chance to step from
one adventure to another
It seems like the weather wants to make
clear that it sympathizes with me: a drizzly day in Sydney, lines up with my mind not being set
in a sunny mode. Strange, that a place which I have explored a lot less than
the previous cities I have been to, still appeals so strongly to me. Or should
I correct that? It is not the hive, which Sydney
appears to be, but rather the wonderful coastline, which has caught me.
Although I would never have considered myself to be a beach person, I must
openly admit that walking along the beaches, has changed me. The many surfers,
who after a wild ride at the head of the waves, submerge repeatedly; the
atmosphere of young mothers with paddling toddlers; the silence that briefly
follows the breaking waves it all left a deep impression on me.
Going back in time: after my lecture in the
Ashfield RSL, I was introduced to Alan, who is very much involved in the
maintaining of a fortress at North Head. Looking through European eyes, I can
immediately say that the traditional view that word invoked in me, is not
correct: do not expect a site with thick walls or ceiling Though heavily armed
ceilings were to be seen, be it below the surface. Fact is that Alan had
invited me for a private visit to the tunnels and that is something I dont
need to be asked twice. On Thursday morning, my host Peter and myself, headed
for Manly. We ended up in a different world: a group of 10 volunteers, coming
from near and far ( 3 hours drive!) is gathering there every Thursday, in order
to restore military vehicles and equipment. These men, from whom metalwork does
not present any insurmountable problem, have a mission: the preservation of
heritage, which, if it werent for their dedicated work, would be lost forever.
The doyen of the group (aged 91) manages to flawlessly re-create missing parts.
It makes me wonder how many young men would be able to imitate him
After an introduction to the whole group,
we set off for a guided tour of the tunnels, which eventually lead to the
position of a 9-inch gun. From the mid 30s, 2 of these guns, in combination
with several 6-inch batteries, were beinginstalled in order to protect the East coast of Australia against potential intruders (fearing
an attack from Russia or Japan, a fear
which proved to be founded eventually). The intention was that this
strategically positioned guns, would overleap each other sufficiently to ensure
a proper defence. A good example of Australian optimism since the range of 26 km from the big guns, was
not enough to assure a conclusive defence. The first stop is a room with 2 huge
generators (not the original ones but of the same type) and a control panel,
which covers an entire wall. Seeing this takes me back in time:I have seen a very similar setup in the
fortress of Mutzig (Alsace area, France) many
years ago. Roy, a very lively man in his seventies, is confronting a more than
decent challenge to restore this panel. That will undoubtedly be a labour of
love. We then decent deeper to end up in a very narrow tunnel, where water is
flowing continuously in 2 small channels, since we seem to sit just above a
wellspring. After a good walk in a second tunnel (the total distance is
approximately 300 meters),
we arrive at the storage end of the projectiles. Strange logic has been applied
when building this part of the fort: where as the hall where the generators
where installed, was built with extremely tick walls and an expansion space
between those walls and the ones of the tunnels, those between the cartridge
supply and the shell storage, prove to be extremely thin An ingenious
systemallows to move to 385 pound heavy shells to
an almost prehistoric version of a lift chain. When proceeding to the surface,
we end up being guided to the original gun position. Too bad that the jewel on
the crown is missing but nevertheless , this sites is more than worth a visit.
Following the fascinating tour, we end up
being invited for lunch: right in line with the spirit of this place. A
barbecue had been rolled out (this piece of equipment is as essential as a
washing machine in a typical Aussie family!) and the chef in charge, gets to
work. Shortly after that, the smell of freshly baked sausages draws us to the
makeshift kitchen. It will be a lunch, which I will not easily forget. No bells
and whistles here, but conversations with interesting people, who each have a
fascinating life story. No tourist brochure can offer a more exiting program
than this!
In the afternoon, we are guided by Roy, a
former soldier, who has lost his heart and soul to guns. We are being led from
one shed to another, where I find myself going from one surprise to another.
Several WW II guns have been restored into a pristine condition. I am
fascinated to learn that a second world war anti aircraft gun was connected to
a very early type of computer, which calculated the expected course of the
plane, allowing the gun sufficient time to aim where the plane was expected to
fly. Amazing information this is! Next to the guns, a huge searchlight holds a
prime position. An album with pictures, revealing the condition the searchlight
was found in, makes clear how much labour has been invested in the restoration.
My respect for these people grows with the minute The day comes to an end with
a very warm goodbye and an open invitation to visit them again, should my
future ever bring me back to Sydney.
Alan, Roy and friends: rest assured that I have made a note of this!
Returning to Dee Why, Peter takes the
opportunity to bring me to a lookout over the endless ocean. It is here that I
get to know, Aussie hospitality from the other side, although I dont realise
that at the moment itself.
Once back in my headquarters, I offer my
host to iron his shirts, while he attends a business appointment. In the course
of the evening, I experience a prickling sensation and an itching feeling on my
back. Worried about whats going on, I ask my host to check it out and then it
becomes clear that a tick had chosen me as a suitable host The little nonentity
had clung between my shoulder blades, with the clear intention to remain where
it was! It took a major operation to remove the uninvited guest. Peter just
laughed, saying: you havent been to Australia if you havent been
bitten by a tick!
The last few days have been so enjoyable;
having the Australian sun as an ally on my walks. Again, I end up with the
strong believe that this is a place which I am unlikely to ever forget. As
uncertain as my future still is, there is a little voice in me, telling that I
will be back
On Sunday morning Tim was ever so kind to
take me to the airport. I will certainly miss his dry British humour, just as I
expect him to miss the ironed shirts in his wardrobe.As Tim has planned a day of sailing, I arrive
at the airport at good time No problem at all, since I feel ever so relaxed at
airports. The self check-in system holds no secrets for me anymore although on
this occasion, I end up being confronted with a practical problem: when putting
my big red suitcase on the scale, it soon becomes clear that it exceeds the maximum
weight restrictions. So this one, ends up, re-arranging suitcases in the middle
of the departure hall. Luck is on my side: if someone would weigh my little
blue suitcase, the scale would soon make clear that my 10 kg might be slightly
underestimated
My flight was scheduled to depart at 11.05
am, boarding at 10.45 am. Sitting next to an American, I tell him that by now,
I am sure to have been confronted with everything that can possibly go wrong.
At least, that is how I thought about it until then. Meanwhile, I know
better As we were expecting to board, the intercom system announces that all
computers are down and that the boarding will have to be done manually. To cut
a long story short: we finally board on the plane, which is not moving an inch
for over an hour. Ultimately, with over 2.30 hours of delay, the flight
departs. In Belgium,
we have a very popular ad by the national railway company saying by train, you
would already have been there!. You know what.. sometimes, this ad does hold
some truth!
Being collected by Jill and Steven, my new
hosts, I am immediately being treated to a trip in the outskirts of Brisbane. No sandy
beaches here. Instead there is a kilometres long coastline, which anticipates
muddy terrain. MortonBay appears to be of enormous
magnitude, and since the access to the bay is gradually bogged down, there is
no swell to be observed on the water. On the Belgian coast, we have to deal
with the seagulls, here one has the ibis to live with. Fact is that this bird
will never be granted a beauty price, although they would do very well in an
arrogance contest
In the evening, we enjoy the reunion,
reminisce and discuss all aspects of Australian society. I feel so privileged
that I get a chance to broaden my horizons this way. When withdrawing to my
room, it becomes so clear to me how restricted my world has been, until now
A long week of absolute silence. Not that I
have gone lost in the wilds of Australia,
far from it: I have thoroughly enjoyed several long walks along the lovely
beach at Dee Why. Mid-winter but this Belgian lady can go hiking in her
lightest summer dress. In the afternoon, the temperatures easily reach 20 °C. The only drawback to
the climate here is, once the sun disappears behind the horizon (which is
always the case by 6 oclock), the heat seems to be absorbed by a large
air-conditioning system, switched on to blow very strong cold air. The
difference between day and night can easily exceed 20°C, and that is something I
struggle to get used to.
Last week had a very bizarre start. Having
dealt with many e-mails, I just wanted to reward myself with an enjoyable walk.
Because it is in my nature to link the pleasant (having a chat) to the useful
(stretching the legs), I am always on the lookout for a collocutor. Walking
along the beach, I spotted 2 men talking to each other, while one of them picked
something up from the beach and that was more than sufficient to arouse my
curiosity. So, I decided to walk up to them in order to find out what proved to
be so interesting. Just as I was about to reach them, one of the 2 was shooting
away, as if he had been stung by a scorpion. The remaining man, realising that
no escape was possible, not knowing what to say, showed me the piece of rock,
which he held in his hand, asking Do you recognize this shape?. I could not
resist to laugh, as that piece of rock looked like a stone penis. Smiling I
replied: Well, this certainly counts as an opening sentence!. The ice was
immediately broken, eventually we ended up walking the beach together. He told
me that his friend had disappeared at the speed of lightning since he did not
know what to say. I still chuckle when thinking of the one that stayed behind,
trying to talk himself out of it One of the many chance encounters on my trek.
One, that has proved to be very interesting since he was a mining engineer, who
had worked in the mining industry. During our walk I was given a respectable
geology lesson on the rocks of Long Reef. It does not always have to be
history
The week was pretty quiet until Thursday
afternoon, when I was being collected to go to Ashfield, where I was to lecture
that evening. The local RSL club was chartered by the Historical Motor Vehicles
Association. Sometimes, I wonder whether people are worried about my waistline
as I am always being offered food. The restaurant of this club ticks all the boxes
though. It very rarely happens that I fill my plate twice!This is also something typical Australian:
people go to a club instead of a café. Each club requires an annual membership
fee (which varies from 3 to 10 dollars) which entitles you to discount for each
meal, you take there. So one can easily recover the dues that way since meals
are really cheap. For 17 dollar, you can eat as much as you like, with
appetizer and dessert included. The disadvantage is that you must be a member,
or a guest invited by a member ( which is the case for me every time). I need
to register again and again. Another huge difference with Belgium is that
clubs all have countless poker machines. It is the generous income from these
one armed bandits (as we refer to these machines in Belgium), which
allows the meals to be offered at a more than reasonable price. It is nothing
new to me that Australia
has a problem with ambling addicts, which in many cases appear to be
middle-aged women.
My mother often told me that I was born
talking since I rattled endlessly. Sure enough, I am beginning to believe it
too. When the chairman told me that there was no time limit, I knew straight
away that it would be a pleasant chat. And this is what it proved to be: a
reading of 2.15 hours with a break of 15 minutes can count. It still gives me a
kick to capture an audience and hearing afterwards that this was the best
lecture they had heard for long, made it so much more rewarding.
After that lecture, I was going to stay in
Castle Hill, another suburb of Sydney.
Having thrown a quick look at the map (against better judgement) I had
estimated my destination to be some 15 minutes away. Since I had informed my
new hosts that I was most likely going to be arriving by 10.30 pm, I began to
worry when noticing that it was 10.20 pm, by the time everything was cleaned
up. When mentioning to Ray, who was kind enough to drop me off at my new
residence, that we were going to be a bit late, he calmly replied that it would
take some 50 minutes to cover the distance. Oops so far for my timing! At that
stage, I realise that I am going to be arriving awfully late When I finally
show up at 11.30 pm, I find Phil and Carol waiting for me. But the evening is
not to come to an end as yet since we retrieve memories till late into the
night. What a wonderful experience it is to sense the feeling of coming home
when arriving with such friendly people.
Friday is listed as a true Australian day
and that means: nothing must be done, everything can be done My host family has
invited some friends, who clearly have been bitten by the WW I bug, so they
would love to hear my talk. So I am to set off for a private show for a captive
audience of 4 people. A different experience which is only interrupted to lack
of time.
After that, I get to know their daughter,
bringing her 4 children and the dog for a weekend at grandpa and grandmas
place. On the spot, the house changes into a hive in which Ewan, Emma, Hayley, Jordan
and Russell, a oversized lively dog, are playing the main parts.Later that evening a lava lamp doesnt
survive the cheerful lot and stains the newly revamped carpet. Whilst grandma
starts googling for a solution to remove the coloured oil, grandpa starts the
cleaning. I am being assigned as a babysitter, a role which I thoroughly enjoy.
Frankly, I was surprised that I managed to captivate them because that
experience lays many years behind me now It is late in the evening, when
finally everyone get into her of his bed and the rest returns in this crowded
house.
On Saturday, I am on the go for another
Australian tour: from Castle Hill to Bathurst
over the Blue Mountains. A trip of 4 hours,
would you believe! No matter how many months I have been in Oz so far, I still
struggle to understand that people are willing to drive 4 hours in order to
attend a lecture. Our first stop is the RSL to check out on the room and the
equipment, in order to check in to our hotel half an hour later. It appears to
be a Best Western hotelon the outskirts
of Bathurst, a
city with some 37000 inhabitants. Nothing new, when saying that standards in Australia
differ from the European ones. However, I am pleasantly surprised to end up in
a room with a very good working heating system. Although the size of the room
proves to be rather small, that can not be said of the bathroom which is really
spacious. A more than friendly hotel manager completes the picture.
It was reported to me that we were going to
have dinner at a Thai restaurant with a group of 13 people. Fearing that spicy
food was going to come my way, I have to admit that I looked forward with very
little enthusiasm. However, I soon realised that there was no reason to worry,
since the restaurant had an Aussie menu just as well. The chops I was
presented, tasted like more they were more than delicious. Only problem is: if
I keep on eating at this pace, I will soon need to upgrade my wardrobe with one
size! Only one negative comment to be mentioned: it is really cold in the
restaurant. When one of our group asks for the heating to be switched on, no
action is being undertaken. The same old story throughout the world: there are
still people who do not understand that it is important to listen to your
customers. It soon becomes apparent that one of the board members must have missed
a career as a comedian: we are set for a long evening of laughing and another
laugh!
I has been a long time since I slept in a
hotel room I do miss the family atmosphere but since it is only for the one
night, it doesnt present that much of a problem. At 10 am the entire group
leaves for the RSL club where I get an interview with a journalist from the
local newspaper. Meanwhile, the room fills in with 60 people, who give me an
extended thanks after a 2 hours lecture which came over them as a waterfall.
One lady appears to be of French origin and would like to communicate with me
in her native tongue. She doesnt seem to grasp that I dont feel comfortable
to express myself in Molières language, not to mention that it is not very
tactful to converse in a language, which the rest of the group doesnt
understand. On the other hand, I have to admit that a bit of French exercise
surely doesnt harm me
And then it is time to hit the road to Sydney again: having left Bathurst at 3.15 pm, we arrive in Dee Why by
8.30 pm On the return trip, the driver decided to take a different road in
order to show me some more of the Blue Mountains.
Until then I had wondered why the mountains had been given that name but then
it became so obvious: there is a blue haze, caused by the oil of the gum trees,
whichhangs just above the top of the
trees. It changes the whole atmosphere into a fairly tale. It is simply
impossible to describe this colour. Depending on the incidence of the sunlight,
it varies from light blue to a very brittle intense shade of blue. This image
burns itself into my brain where ever I might end up on this planet, this is a
picture I shall never forget.
Meanwhile I am back in my permanent home
in Dee Why. I have a few days to pack my bright red suitcase for the umpteenth
time, in order to drag it on its way to a new adventure. Brisbane , here I come!
One frustration I have to deal with: no
internet connection. After 4 days without a proper connection, I am on the edge
of being desperate. It frustrates me that there are people, waiting impatiently
for a answer that doesnt come, not being aware of the fact that the reason for
that is to be blamed on the lack of internet connection.
Wednesday: and that means, work to be done
since I have a lecture in a local high school. I can only say that Belgian
teachers would find it very hard to adapt in order to survive in this system.
Youngsters are going in all directions, not taking notice of what happening
around them. What a shock it would mean to them to fit in the Belgian system!
Eventually the teacher guides me to the
classroom, where the students walk in, some of them well over time. I end up
lecturing to a group of 10 youngsters, one more interested than the other. It
turns out to be a very relaxing talk as with such a small group it feels like
an informal chat. Once again one hour proves to be so very short but all in
all, I know that some information is going to stay with them. At the end, a
tall young boy, who in the near future will surely make some teenager hearts
beat faster, steps forward to offer me a box of Swiss chocolates. Thanks! We will
enjoy these for sure!
My days here are really filled in, in a
professional way: immediately after the lecture, we get to the centre where I
end up in the car of acquaintances. It gives me an opportunity to make new
friends. The chairman of the local RSL branch is acting as a guide for me and
does that in a very conscientious way: during the drive of about one hour, he
gives me so much information on the region. The idea was to take me to the
coast, which proves to be very different from the Belgian one: the coastline is
indented: one bay follows another with here and there, an almost hidden idyllic
lagoon to be spotted. After some sightseeing, it is time for a meal in a local
restaurant. Though it is many years ago, since I worked as a waitress, I still can
not stop myself from looking at a restaurant through professional glasses:
cleanliness, friendliness, atmosphere, service, food quality (though I am not
an expert on that last level!), fact is that I still tend to judge it all. I
come to conclude that most restaurants seem to miss out on the atmosphere,
though I must add that for some of them there is still some work to be done on
the timing: 15 minutes difference between the first and the last dish to be
served to the group?Am I right in
stating that European customers are more demanding than their antipodes?
My lecture to the local RSL club is
scheduled on Thursday. First stop is to the local newspaper: not that many
Belgians (their loss!) are visiting Wingham, so an article is going to be published
on my visit. In all honesty, journalists dont stop to impress me with the
speed they can take down information. Although this is a young girl, she comes
across as very professional. From there we are heading to the venue where the
lecture is organised.We start off with
a lovely lunch: another type of fish (of which I have lost the name) but it
proves to be delicious. A pleasant meal in exciting company, what else can one
wish for?Full of food and energy, I
start my talk, knowing that it would turn out to become a very pleasant
afternoon: no time pressure and an interested audience stand guarantee for
that.
After a restless night, it is back to art
of filling a suitcase again: an art which, after 4 months of travelling, I
master really well. Nevertheless it does become a more tricky job as my journey
goes on, since here too, I am being given local area information as a present. I
will have loads of reading to do, once I decide to settle!
Before dropping me off a the railway
station, my hosts have to attend a meeting of the local board of tourism, so I
find myself attending that too. I can only say that I am grateful for this
unexpected opportunity: during the meeting, I enjoy watching the interaction in
this group. The way people communicate reveals so much about a society I would
almost describe it as a free lesson in psychology.
Because my heart is in the matter too, I
have to bite my tongue a couple of times. Eventually I ask permission to give
my opinion as an independent outsider. And then it becomes clear that someone,
who is not closely involved, sometimes sees the way to a compromise in a better
way. The goodbye turns out to be a very warm one. Somehow, I leave with the
feeling that the people I have met here are about to play a role in my future
life as well.
Australian trains, that could be the
title of a Broadway comedy. On first glance, I was sure that this train had to
be a new one. However, after a few hours, I was left with the impression that
no second gear had been built in. We chug out of Tarees railway station on a
trot for a 5 hour drive to the South. I swear by high and low, that same
journey in Europe would prove to be at least
one hour shorter. In the open landscape, it feels as if the driver is keen to
assure that everyone can take as many pictures as they like, even giving time
to zoom in! After a couple of hours, all of a sudden, in the middle of nowhere,
the whole machine comes to a halt. The intercom system announces that we
just(here we go again!) have to wait
for a train from the other direction, before we can proceed. I praise myself
lucky that I have Bryce Courtenays book The power of one in my handbag: the
fascinating story of Peekay, an African boy with no future
Upon arrival in Sydney, I catch the train to Circular Quay to
get the ferry across to Manly. What a shame that darkness falls so quickly
here: the pictures I got from the Opera House prove to be waste of time.. Tim,
my host in Dee Why, is ever so kind to come and collect me. Arriving at his place
almost feels like coming home. The evening turns out to be a very relaxing
one, watching a costume drama on television. For the next 2 weeks, I can just
root here, before leaving for Brisbane.
But not before I have finished a number of lectures in this metropolis though
Flemish translation would be: more than
wet! During the last few months more than one cliché image of Australia has
been smashed to pieces. The last one has just been thrown overboard: drought in Australia? I surely find it hard to believe after the deluge of the past 2 days! Rains of
this magnitude would flood half of West Flanders,
that is what I am convinced off right now!
On Saturday evening, we went shopping, after which Tim took me to
North Head. This spot offers a beautiful view over the rather limited access to
the port of Sydney. During World War II, 3 Japanese
mini submarines tried to penetrate the port in order to torpedo allied ships.
Only one of them partly accomplished his mission, torpedoing the Australian
HMAS Kuttabul. Two of the 3 submarines blew themselves up before being captured
by the enemy. For many years it remained a mystery what had happened to the 3rd
one until, in 2006, the remains of the missing submarine, were discovered just
out of the coast, North of Sydney
Fact is that the view, I enjoy, reveals nothing of this tragedy
Tim very kindly offered to take a picture of me, with Sydney in the background.
With his unmistakable, dry British humour, he makes a few comments which only
results that I get the giggles: 6 photos later, there is still none which is
susceptible for publication. Having said that, it feels great to be able to
laugh again. After 2 years of distress, I had almost forgotten what it means to
relax and enjoy the beauty of life.
Monday, 11.40 am: I am sitting on the bus to Taree, which is nothing
less than a miracle.Having stayed for
almost 2 months, my rhythm has adjusted to this society and I have learned that
everything must be taken with a certain degree of flexibility. Whilst the
website had made clear in no uncertain terms, that all places on the train were
sold out, it really wanted to say that, due to track works, there were no
trains at all!Instead busses were going
to cover the distance. Still, it feels as if this is a state secret as it is only
after several phone calls, that this information is being released.
The ride to Taree proves to be a long journey of 6 hours. Other than
the few stops to drop people off, it feels like an endless drive. The landscape
is mainly dominated by hills and forests (every now and then, I consider that
this resembles the Black Forest in Germany, if it werent for the fact
that the trees are gum trees instead of pines). Well over time, we finally
arrive in Taree, where the situation is to be described as organised chaos. I
had to get off the train in Wingham but since the bus follows a different route
, the bus misses this stop and heads straight for Taree. Those who had to get
to Taree, are to be taken there by taxi. And this is the start of a comedy
Oh, you need to get to Wingham? Please be patient for a little while as a 5th
passenger has to join in but he is on the next bus from Sydney.. Just a
minute has a very different meaning in Oz: basically, it describes any given
period of time! I had already discovered that on my way to Adelaide,
when the conveyor belt in Sydney,
broke down. A friendly voice had then announced that it would take just a
minute to fix it. I remember only too well, that one hour later, I was
getting very anxious whether my suitcase was going to appear at all that day!
A good 15 minutes later, the last passenger finally arrives, and
then the clerk comes to the conclusion that we dont all fit in the taxi! Just
a minute, we will make a phone call for the maxitaxi. I still suspect that the
driver must have been on vacation in the Bahamas, as our patience is really
being put to the test. Finally, with lots of delay, I make it to Wingham, where
my hosts had been waiting for over an hour by then. I must give credit to the
Aussies: no complains in no way over the lost time!
I end up, staying in a house in the middle of nowhere; one of the
most beautiful places I have stayed in so far. And being woken up by the sound
of a Kookaburramade the experience
complete! What a remarkable sound this bird produces!
My hosts have arranged an exploration of the area for me today: a
beautiful part of Australia,
it proves to be, offering nature at its very best. In my feel,this is a hidden gem, never would I have
expected to see such a varied landscape, such beautiful coasts, such untouched
nature. With the sun high up in the sky, this day will be listed as a perfect
day in my memory!
Meanwhile, the day has come to an end one which was full of
variety. In other words, a day I fully enjoyed. This morning, I was taken to
the local museum in Wingham, which I visited under the guidance of 2 guides.
Not to be missed, that is the best way I can refer to this museum. It proved to
be a fascinating walk though the history of this settlement. Soon enough do I
realise that on more than one aspect of Australian history, I was hitting the
ball wrong. This morning hasoffered me
an enriching lesson. One learns while travelling? No doubt about that!
In the afternoon, I was taken to Foster, a coastal town, to the
North. No idyllic beaches here; wild pounding waves on the many rock formations
instead and, although hard to understand, a number of surfers, challenging
nature!Lunch is being offered by family
of Eric and Mave, with whom I stay. What a small world it appears to be: this
man has worked for many years with a Belgian from Antwerp
We then head inland, as Eric and Mave, want to show me the best the
area has to offer. Having been to so many places over the last couple of
months, I reckon I have seen all this country has to offer. However, I can not
deny that the views, I have from high on the hill, surpasses everything. It is
view over rolling landscapes, which I can only describe as typical Australian.
Every grade of green is to be seen, mysterious mist hanging over the hills,
filters the light in such a way, that the whole atmosphere is very special. Mission accomplished I am
overwhelmed!
We enjoy a relaxed evening: reading Bryce Courtenays The Power of
One, with easy listening music on the background and a glass of New Zealands
Sauvignon Blanc at my fingertips, it is increasingly clear to me that the path,
that lies before me, will be of very different nature than the one I have
travelled on for 32 years.
This will be a mini update as for the last
few days, I simply have not been up to much. After my farewell to Bob and Gwyn,
I arrived at my next stop: an apartment on the coast in a small suburb of Sydney, called Dee Why.
Yesterday an inscription in the pavement, made clear where the origin of this
name is to be found. At some stage geese flew over here in a formation that
looked like a D and Y and that was it! Ive said several times that Australian
schools do stimulate creative thinking. Should I list the name Dee Why as a
result of the education???
I am currently staying in an apartment,
within 5 minutes walk from the coast. Seeing this coast, I am more than willing
to forget about the North Sea beaches in Belgium: this wide sandy beach with
very fine sand, could be a picture in a holiday magazine. It invites to go
walking, absorbing the beauty of nature. The ocean stretches to the horizon
with water, which is bluer than any photoshop program would ever dare to use.
Not only the clarity and the colour of the water are very different to what I
am used to: the waves are certainly too! Although there is barely perceptible
wind, the waves raise fairly high up, before throwing themselves on the beach
in a seething mass of foam. Really a surfers paradise: the water is teeming
with black dots, between all the forces of nature. For a split second I
believed I was looking at sharks, till one of them got on his surfboard in
order to perform a very nice balancing act.
While my host was at work yesterday, I went
out to explore: it turned out to be a relaxing walk in the sand: the sun in my
face, my skin being chilled by a soft breeze. The countless coffee bars and
restaurants are being frequented by hundreds of people, mothers with children
are walking on the dike Where has the hectic life, that Ive had, gone to?
One can not change ones personality: I
still very strongly feel the need to talk to people. After my walk: I take a
seat next to a lonely man, peering at the rolling waves. He appears to be an Italian
(makes me wonder where all the real Aussies are, as everyone I spoke to seems
to be a first generation immigrant). Some 5 years ago, he left Italy to
explore the world and to find out what that big outside world had to offer. On his trip around the world, he did fall in
love with Oz.. on top of that, he found the love of his life here too. A very
romantic story of which I am sure, there must be hundreds more.
On to the supermarket then, as I still love
my diet of bread, bananas and yoghurt. To my big surprise the tills were not
manned: it is a matter of DIY! Not all that obvious for a tourist, for whom
this is a first introduction to such a system. A little peek, left and right,
gives me the confidence to give it a go. Modern society this is: even the
cashiers end up being replaced by a machine. It is with a wry sense that I
leave this place. Will there come a day when people no longer speak to each
other at all???
On returning to my residence, I passed by a
school. My motto being Nothing to lose, everything to gain, makes me walk in.
I want to inform this school that I have something to offer. Clearly enough,
the friendly clerk was not expecting anything of the kind and seems to be a bit
lost for words. She notes down my name and phone number with the firm promise
to contact me in the next week. In a happy mood, I continue my walk back home
My host is a born and bred Brit, who came
as an adventurous young men to Oz, some 10 years ago. Having a law degree, he
ended up in a very different industry since he has build up a career as a sales
manager. I dont have the slightest doubt that he is good at what he does. Fact
is that some things are the same throughout the world: one only gets forward in
life if one is willing to commit for a 100 %.Tim surely sticks to that rule: on a his free Saturday, he sits for
hours at his desk, preparing for the next week.
The plan is to explore Sydney during the coming days. For the time
being , this city is still the big unknown to me, as other that the HarbourBridge and the Opera House, I have no
idea what this metropolis has to offer. Having a private guide, I feel
confident that I will get filled in, before departing for Brisbane.
As a bouncer, I have one remark to daily
life: it seems that Aussies dont bother to much to wash the windows. To my
surprise, windows dont open in such a way that they allow you the wash them on
the outside. Staying in an apartment on the third floor means that you really
need long ladder to give them a clean on the outside! And where I would never
describe Aussies as vain, I have noticed that a lot of attention is being paid
to ironing clothes. I guess this is something to classify under the heading
cultural differences?
