Dear All,

After a far too early start of the day, I have made it without any problems to Wellington. However, for a while I wasn’t too sure about a safe arrival. Whilst the flight was an uneventful one, the landing didn’t really classify as such.  Or better said: the  descending 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 biscuit  I 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 it’s nickname: Windy Wellington… from now on, I don’t 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 a  guided 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 involvement  of 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-Paul’s 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 doesn’t 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 viewpoint  of 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 haven’t 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 doesn’t impress me too much though. The round shape makes me reflect that efficiency wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 doesn’t 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!

Warm wishes

Charlotte

Dear all,

This is a report written in a hotel room, close to Auckland’s 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 fact  that 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 doesn’t 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. Don’t 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 it’s 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 Sandi’s mother (whom could almost be mistaken to be Sandi’s 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

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

Here we go again: just another stop in an airport. I have written  several 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 don’t 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 Charles’s 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 Auckland War Memorial Museum. For some unknown reason, I am struggling with nerves more than I have ever done before. Not a major problem as long as they don’t 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 don’t 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 Glyn’s… 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 21^st: Belgium’s 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 doesn’t 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 Navy Museum. 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 it’s really bedtime for me. Two lectures in schools on my schedule for tomorrow… no rest for the wicked!

Warm wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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 doesn’t 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 “feeling  lonely”. 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 wasn’t 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 don’t 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 Tyson’s are scarce in this world… I soon learn that the average pro doesn’t 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 it’s 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 hadn’t 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 doesn’t 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, hadn’t 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.

Warm wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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 it’s 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 don’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 don’t 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 doesn’t 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, doesn’t even seem to see the need to talk to all parties involved. It wouldn’t 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 doesn’t mean to much to this journalist. It surely covers a wide area (or perhaps not? ), doesn’t it???

Warm greetings,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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, wasn’t 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” didn’t 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 hadn’t 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 hadn’t 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 o’clock, 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 for  me, since the plane is barely half full, there is  no 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…

Summer greetings from Rockhampton

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

This has got to be the first Flemish holiday, I am celebrating a long way from home. In all honesty, if it weren’t for the fact that there was a reference to it on facebook, I wouldn’t 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 don’t 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 Piaf’s song “Non, je ne regrette rien” was his motto. I’ll 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.

Warm wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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 doesn’t 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 farmer’s 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 wasn’t 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 won’t 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 doesn’t 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 won’t 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!

Warm greetings,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

Life is a rollercoaster and that’s 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 whom  you 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 three’s”, 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t 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 won’t 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, ma’am? 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. Don’t 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 doesn’t 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…

Best wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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 don’t 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 weren’t 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 30’s, 2 of these guns, in combination with several 6-inch batteries, were being  installed 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 system  allows 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 don’t 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 what’s 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 haven’t been to Australia if you haven’t 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. Morton Bay 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…

Best wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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 o’clock), 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 grandma’s 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 doesn’t 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 hotel  on 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t seem to grasp that I don’t feel comfortable to express myself in Molière’s language, not to mention that it is not very tactful to converse in a language, which the rest of the group doesn’t understand. On the other hand, I have to admit that a bit of French exercise surely doesn’t 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, which  hangs 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 it’s way to a new adventure. Brisbane , here I come!

Warm wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright : Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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 doesn’t 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 don’t 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 Taree’s 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 Courtenay’s 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…

Greetings

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

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Dear All,

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 3^rd 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 weren’t 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 5^th 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 don’t 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 Kookaburra  made 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 it’s 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 has  offered 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 Courtenay’s “The Power of One”, with easy listening music on the background and a glass of New Zealand’s 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.

Best wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

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! I’ve 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 surfer’s 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 I’ve had, gone to?

One can not change one’s 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 don’t 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 Harbour Bridge 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 don’t bother to much to wash the windows. To my surprise, windows don’t 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”?

Best wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012

Dear All,

On this occasion, the title surely doesn’t refer to the weather, as that is everything but enjoyable. As a true Belgian, who has so very often yammered of the rain, I do experience this as a lesson to stop for once and for all, the lament on what the weather gods are offering us. I am learning to look at the beauty around me, and then the lesser parts of life pale very quickly.

My new home has proved to offer me a very warm nest… referring to human warmth. I keep on struggling with the cold temperatures in which people live here. Only now, does it become clear to me that we used to heat our house far too much: you won’t find rooms with 21°C here, a modest 18°C seems to be much more realistic. Gradually, my body is becoming used to this: since a few days I walk around with a sweater less, although my toes are still protesting. Could this be the result of the fact that, for years, I have been walking on heated floors?

Glynn and Bob are very active seniors: still very dedicated working with the local scouts organisation. I reckon they have become the grandparents of many of these children. When looking at their house, I recognise a Flemish characteristic in such a way that they have extended their house several times over the years. Without a shatter of a doubt : their hall is the longest I have ever seen in a house! When their parents came to live with them, this was solved in the “Australian” way : just knock down the rear wall and build an extension. Why am I left with the impression that problems in this country are being dealt with more common sense that in our over-materialized world?

Yesterday, I had a lecture to the local RSL (Returned Service League) in the centre of Sydney. A beautiful building but of a very different nature than what I had seen in Canada. Here, everything is modern, sleek and minimalist: somehow, it lacks the charm of an old building, where the walls exude history, but nevertheless: it feels very inviting. When addressing to a group of former soldiers (as the majority of my audience proved to be) you can bet on it, that someone in the group, will have knowledge on ammunition. Right so… as an artillery officer asked me a number of questions to test how far my knowledge stretched. I am pleased to say, I passed the test as David later told me that he was quite impressed with what I had to tell on the subject.  Only one caveat that day: my remote control for my power point (which I had tested just before my presentation) went on strike and refused all service. Back to basics then: hitting the spacebar is the way to work around this problem.

Whilst the temperatures are dropping in the length of my travel, the culinary experience is going up the other way. After the presentation, a lunch was being offered in the same club: a lunch I will remember for a long time and not only because of the breathtaking view on Sydney’s Opera House. The open plan kitchen allowed us to watch how the kitchen staff was working themselves into sweat … and fire! Till today, I am convinced that the cook, of Asian origin, must have had a previous career as a fire breather. Watching flames going up more than one meter high, my inner alarm went off.. Where is the emergency exit here??? I can only hope that the fire prevention of this club was up to date as, in Belgian eyes, this was direct attempt to set the place on fire! That aside, the veal, which was served was of the finest quality I have ever tasted. A lovely closure to a wonderful day…

Dee, Bob’s daughter-in-law, acting as chauffeur today, decided to take me to the best viewing point of the city. Even having no basis of comparison, I will readily admit that it will be difficult to find something better. A place on the waterfront, with a view of the Harbour Bridge (the 2^nd largest suspension bridge in the world) and the famous Opera House. For a moment, I wonder whether there would be anyone on this planet, that would not recognise this building on a picture? Just as beautiful, although less known are the old dockyard buildings, which have been converted in exclusive apartments. If you want to become Nicole Kidman’s neighbour, you have to be assured of a fairly good bank balance though…

Up to Roseville then (the suburb where I am staying) to enjoy a relaxed evening followed by an equally relaxed night. And wonder, oh wonder, the sun is shining today! Leaves me with the question : for how long???

Later today, I will be on the move again: from Roseville to Dee Why (so strange place names are no longer an European privilege), where I will be staying the next 4 days, before moving up North to Taree. I already know that this trip will not be obvious as, believe it or not: when I tried to book my train ticket yesterday, I got a message that all trains were fully booked. How on earth  am I going to cover the distance (5 hours by train) is a bit of a miracle to me. Fact is that  I have 2 lectures in Taree… the challenge is now: how to get there??

To be continued…

Greetings

Charlotte

Copyright : Charlotte Descamps 2012

Rain and wind in Flanders, that is what I pick up over here. Not to worry, people: it is currently no better down under. It seems as if everything in Melbourne wanted to wave me out in the Belgian way: all hands on deck (for the rain gods !) was the motto.

But let me step back in time. After my lecture on Sunday afternoon, a passionate young major of the reserve army approached me with the question, whether I had been to the “Shrine of Remembrance”. On replying, that I intended to do so the following day, he immediately invited me to a private guided tour, which I have accepted with pleasure.

Monday morning progressed in an unexpected way as I was presented a private concert by my hosts. Janet, who has gone through conservatory many years ago, proves to be a gifted singer. Her husband Jim, whose strong accent keeps on stressing his Scottish roots, has a warm, deep voice, which perfectly blends in with the flawless vocals of Janet. In less than no time I was immersed in Celtic sounds: melancholic, lyrical, exciting… I ended up in a different world!

After a light lunch it was time to make a move to the centre. Jim had told me that Melbourne in the most spread out city down under and who am I  to contradict him? At least, the city keeps up the reputation for excellent public transport : tram 67 appeared right on time. The stop where I stepped onto the tram was number 62 . To get to the memorial, I had to get off at stop 19. In other words, between both stops, I had more than sufficient time to read the newspaper from back to front and… from front to back! An good hour later, I got of the tram, still being on the same side of the city as where I am staying. At that stage the opposite side of Melbourne is more than an hour away. OK, the tram may not exactly match up with a high speed train, but even then…

The impressive memorial of Melbourne is of a different nature than the War Memorial in Canberra. Only temporarily exhibitions can be organised here, there is no permanent display of artefacts other than 2 authentic VC crosses and a lot of colours of several regiments. Having said that, I learn that there are big plans to expand this building. It seems that the centennial fever is striking here too.

In case I would describe the way into town as a test for my nerves, the way out proved to be a test in the square! The wind tears unusually hard on my umbrella, which barely succeeds to keep all the downpour away from me. It seems like yesterday, that I was wondering why Australia doesn’t have any windmills. On a night like this, it soon becomes clear that wind turbines would soon prove to be a profitable investment!

Tram after tram arrives, with exception of tram nr 67… would that one have decided to call it a day before retiring into the depot? As I am about the reach the level of desperation and under cooling,  the missing tram appears. Did anyone whistle “attack”? I am firmly convinced that there must have been some secret signal, for the whole crowd pushes forward, in an almost desperate attempt to find shelter for the rain in an overcrowded wagon, ready for the long drive to home and hearth. I always tend to look for a positive note though. In this case it proved to be the opportunity for a chat with a young woman cramped in, just next to me. With an accent that was a dead give away, that she was from Eastern Europe. She told me she left Macedonia some 5 years ago, as even with an accountant degree, she couldn’t get a job. On my question “why Melbourne”, she replied that she had family here, which proved to be a big help to make the immigration process a lot easier.

More than a hour later, I was only too pleased to be in the warm living room of my host family. Dinner was served very quickly, a matter of warming up life and limb… Dinner proved to be some kind of soup, rather tick, with bread and 3 different kinds of bread spread. Soup and bread: you are on a winner with me there.

In the meantime the wind had built up even more, which would make it hard to get some sleep. In the distance a door was hitting the wall with predictable regularity, preventing me from sinking away into a deep sleep. All I can say is that I wasn’t pleased when the alarm clock woke me up, the hands of the clock pointing at 4 am. We needed 45 minutes on the highway to get to Melbourne airport. One keeps on being reminded constantly: the size of Oz is hard to grasp for a Belgian…

After a pleasant flight of about one hour, the Boeing 757 hit the tarmac of Sydney’s airport with a barely perceptible touch. Bob, my new host, who organised tomorrows lecture, was patiently waiting for me. A good fortune that he had forwarded me a very accurate description of himself: look for an egg with glassed and a beard! It soon becomes clear that Bob, must have been very good in his job at some stage. This 78 year old, decided to get a lawyers degree, after a career of a marine engineer. Four years later, he succeeded and even though he might be a bit slower now, I can assure you that his tongue and brains can easily compete in first class still! For those amongst you, who believe I am a smooth talker… I bow to the master!

Meanwhile, the weather evolves from bad to worse. Enough reason for me to sit at my laptop, typing down the story of my journey into a new future. A story, which I hope that is going to be read by people, wherever they may be…

Stormy wishes

Charlotte

Copyright : Charlotte Descamps 2012

I have surfaced again! The wonder pills, called Panadol have killed the fever to that extend that the day before yesterday, I was sufficiently recovered to start exploring Ballarat. Keeping in mind that I was still on the path to full recovery, we decided to that by car (not that one could possibly explore any Aussie city by walking anyway). From one day to the other, it dawns on my that Aussie autumns are not as mild as I had them expected to be. On the bright side: I should end up in warmer atmospheres when heading North to Brisbane, where they enjoy a more tropical climate.

I have overslept more than a bit on Thursday… When Mandy was knocking on my door, in order to check whether I was OK, I simply had no idea of time. Informing me that it was 11.30 am; well that was good enough to chase me out of bed at the speed of lightning! Clear enough the fever had taken that much energy from my body that I needed a more than 12 hour sleep to recuperate. Not a beauty sleep, rather a sleep to restore the balance in my body. This journey has been so enriching for me in a mental way… perhaps I have simply ignored my body just that little bit too much?

My restless nature is still searching for a final destination, which I haven’t found so far, although I know for a fact that I am in no way, the same person as the woman I was, when closing the door of Varlet Farm behind me, on February 2^nd, setting my first steps on an unknown path. A decision, with which I am being confronted on daily basis, since the ones at home stubbornly refuse all communication. Even so, nothing is going to withhold me from saying that I have made the right choice. Or am I right, in stating that all people are narrow minded, selfish little creatures? And I am not referring to myself on this occasion… Sure enough, I have chosen for myself. However, I didn’t do that until my children were adults. As they have reached the age to walk their own path, I am doing that too: the only difference being, that I do wish them the very best, something which they don’t grant me. Leaves me behind with the question: who is being selfish in this story…? My door will always be open, theirs remains closed.

Back to my journey… Mandy is being drawn as a magnet to her favourite restaurant: have a guess where we had our lunch today? At least, I can understand her choice: as far as I am concerned, this is by far the best restaurant I have encountered since I started my trip. Pumped up with sufficient calories to see me through the day, we started our exploration. The somewhat  faded-glory of this city is still reflected in many stately buildings. Somehow, there seems to be an imbalance between the city size  and the scale of the buildings, that  are too

 impressive to the streets. I notice that the same mistakes as in Europe are being made here too: wide boulevards, lined with beautiful Victorian architecture style, are here and there being abruptly disrupted by a more recent structure of indefinable style: a concrete box, that contrasts with the sophistication of the rest of the street. Shame that the government allows this to happen. The vision of this young country on the preservation of heritage is in urgent need for continuous training: on very regular base, authentic buildings are being knocked into the ground. Something that amazes me, knowing that Aussies are often drawn to Europe, because of its history. Don’t they realise that they will never build up a history of their own as long as traces of their existence keep on disappearing under a breaker?

Ballarat has a magnificent monument to all Australian ex-prisoners of war soldiers: an endless row of granite panels, on which thousands of names have been engraved. Names that symbolize the unspeakable suffering humanity can bring about. The memorial is connected to a sophisticated water system, revealing a lot of symbolism. This country surely doesn’t lack creativity. I wonder whether their school system plays a part in that?

From there on we went to a building to commemorate the Great war. Mandy lovingly describes it as their own “Menin Gate”…with some imagination, I see the logic behind it. One of the panels, placed here in the early 1920’s, makes immediately clear how far away we are from European mainland. Under the heading “France” , I see the names of Polygon Wood, Zonnebeke and Broodseinde appearing. No reference to Belgium though!

Right behind the gate lies the majestic “Avenue of honour” : a 22 km long perpendicular avenue that stretches itself endlessly. Along this boulevard appear, to this day, 3332 trees (there were originally 3771 but here too, modern society has created some damage). In front of every tree, I spot a small plate with name and rank of a soldier, who many years ago, signed his enlisting papers full of courage, ready to walk to the big adventure. Only to discover soon after that the adventure they ended up in, proved to be of a very different nature than what they anticipated.

Our ride continues for miles along a vast lake. I can barely believe my ears, when Mandy tells me that, only a few years ago, this was a dry plain. This part of Australia had gone through a drought of 10 years, so water became extremely scarce. The endless lake, which now extends itself in front of me, reveals for fickle nature can be down under.

The late autumn sun is not as such to convince anyone to stay outdoors for long. At 5 pm, we are safely back home, on the mat in front of the stove, to enjoy the radiant heat. This house offers, as many other Australian houses,  very little protection against the cold. It keeps on amazing me that nothing is being done to prevent the cold from getting in.  While we are enjoying “The English Patient”, all of a sudden, the quiet evening is being disturbed by a tremendous thud. Not to worry: it proves to be possums, falling out of a tree. Their landing resounds through the house. The next phase is a bustle of many feet, to and fro, which makes clear to me that the little sweeties are trying to get away.

Saturday, and that means once more: time to say goodbye. I will always be grateful for all the good care Mandy has given me: a private nurse, that far away from your home country, not everyone has as much luck as I had! The train brings me, without any problems, back to Melbourne, where I have a lecture for the “Historical Society” in the afternoon. First and foremost, I get to my new hosts for the next 2 days. It turns out to be a beautiful home in Carnegie, a suburb of Melbourne. From there we depart for the local bowling club in Oakleigh where the meeting is set to take place. My audience consist of a group of 60 people, all with a very strong interest in the history of the Great War. Some of them have driven a long distance to attend the lecture… this is not Belgium, o no.. no one would drive more than 1.30 hours to attend an event like this!  A relaxing atmosphere, a smooth lecture with a very satisfied audience, organisers radiating with pride… in other words: my day can not go wrong anymore!

Janet and Jim, my new hosts are the very first Aussies I meet, who are so well aware of the environment and the need to protect it. They proudly tell me that they have installed solar panels for the production of electricity as well as to supply them with hot water. Moreover, they drive a hybrid car, which charms me especially because of the silence , no roaring engine to be heard!. The only lack I notice, is double glazing. Apart from that this couple thinks very “green”, something which I have barely encountered in Oz , so far.

Both of them are very enthusiastic musicians: wherever I look, there are instruments to be seen. Jim , a native Scot (and no way he could ever hide that : after 2 words I realise that his accent hasn’t faded in the 40 years he has been living here!) proves to be a gifted cook too, however tonight it is Janet that works away in the kitchen. She offers a delicious meal : lamb (cooked as I hope to be do it as well one day…) , a bunch of vegetable and  -thank God- no rice but potatoes instead. It proves to be a lovely evening, in the company of Helen and Michael, who have joined in. Many aspects of life are being discussed… even Belgian politics!

This morning is reserved for updating my blogs: the Dutch one, being more or less up to date, the English one, on the other hand, is constantly lagging behind. Never had I imagined that so much time was going to be invested in writing. No complains to be heard though:… in a comfortable seat, in front of a fireplace, I do realise that life is not all that bad after all!

Warm wishes,

Charlotte

Copyright : Charlotte Descamps 2012

Time flies, is a common saying that I can easily subscribe to, as those last couple of days have past by in a flash. The day before yesterday I was still in Melbourne, this evening I am spending in Ballarat after a more than pleasant stay in Geelong.

I wonder whether I have gipsy blood running in my vains? Fact is that I am enjoying travelling to the most. Those last couple of months, I have been living out of a suitcase, something which, to my big surprise, I do enjoy. When getting on a bus, a train or a plane, I know that at the other end of the journey, a new adventure is awaiting me.

Let me step back in time. Melbourne has not been able to charm me in the same way as Canbarra has done. Sure enough the city projects a certain grandeur, the majestic buildings are witnessing a grand past but nevertheless, there is something lacking. Hard to describe: perhaps this city is just too big for me? Perhaps too impersonal? Whilst I had the feeling of space and countryside in Canberra, Melbourne is enclosing me just too much…

So I left the city behind without regrets. The feel was one of “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt” so time to move on to the next stage. Not without almost having experienced a heart attack though. Just before leaving Brent’s office, my little notebook decided to give up on me. No sign of life, no matter what I tried. I can assure you that this must approach an “close death” experience: all my contacts are saved in that little device. How on earth am I going to plan the rest of my trip???

Panic has never been a good advisor. An attitude of “ for every problem, there is a solution to be found”, takes you a lot further. In the literally meaning of the word, it means: Geelong. To Flemish standards it would be classified as large. city. Geelong, with some 300.000 inhabitants is situated at a bay with fine sandy beaches. As most cities in the around here, Geelong too has been designed to a grid pattern: large square blocks, cut up by endless roads. Julie was supposed to meet me at the railway station and since we had never met before, I adviced her to look for a giant bright red suitcase. Not as romantic as a red rose but sure enough as efficient. Still we managed to miss each other, walking around in circles until a friendly clerk connected the 2 of us.

Even before I had said “Hello”, I had asked whether there was a pc shop nearby. Top priority was to get my laptop up and running as I do need it badly for my presentations. What a relief to learn that the problem was situated in the battery cable: a new one sorted it out and most of all… restored peace in my heart! Once this had been dealt with, Julie took me for a ride in Geelong, giving me plenty of historical information. She probably doesn’t know how much this meant to me. After this wonderful introduction, she took me to her home : a wonderful house on top of the hill with a breathtaking view across the city. There are worse places on this planet to end up!

Once arrived, I got to know Glenn, Julie’s husband. This cheerful man was more than busy in the kitchen, preparing a meal which would soon prove to be the first “European style” dinner, I was about to enjoy in Oz.  Although the bush telegraph seems to have been very active, informing my new hosts of what food I can eat (and more importantly, what I DON’T eat), I wonder whether they have been informed that I am not the biggest eater on this world. The food he cooked would have been sufficient to feed a whole army section! Porc, baked potatoes, cauliflower with while sauce, pies, parsnip ( a vegetable barely eaten in my home country, but ever so popular here) and – believe it or not- French red wine. This country has thought me to enjoy red wine: no need to get some from the other side of the world, the quality here is so much better!

After a relaxed chat, it proved to be bedtime.  A wonderful room with, seldom seen in Oz, heating. I have already stepped away from the belief that it is always hot in Oz. On the contrary: nights down under prove to be bitterly cold. Something which is only made more prominent by the almost complete lack of double glazing and insulation.

A wonderful warm night sleep, a great breakfast : my batteries are all charged to deliver my talk at Matthew Flinders school.  It meant a happy reunion with some teachers whom had been to Varlet Farm in the previous years. Two very interested groups of youngsters listened to my lectures. What a great feeling to see that the young generation can be fascinated by that bit of history which both our countries have in common. After the talks, I ended up being invited for a lunch with 3 teachers of whom one proved to be an English lady, teaching French in Australia!

Time to say goodbye in order to move to my next appointment. Johnathan stayed with me some 2 years ago. He wanted to return the hospitality he had experienced while visiting the Salient, so I was being invited for a cup of coffee. A chat of 3 hours (with a couple of more coffees) both told us that life isn’t always as easy as it seems. But, to end on a cheerful note: we have both made it to the other side of the tunnel. Now we sit and laugh and share our positive view on the future which lays ahead of us.

Had I been chatting too much that day? Fact is that I had a bit of a sore feeling in my vocal cords. The coach trip from Geelong to Ballarat ( a good hour) was going to be invested in silence, at least that was the plan. It didn’t quite work out, as I established contact with a wonderful lady sitting next to me. Before I realised the bus pulled in the railway station of Ballarat, bringing me to Mandy, whom I had last seen almost 2 years ago. All I knew was that my vocal cords were not going to get any rest at all, once we had met again!  I really needed to look twice, when spotting Mandy from a distance: how on earth she managed is a miracle: she seems to be 5 years younger now compared to 2 years ago!

Her enthusiasm just shines through in the same way as her energy does! Without delay I was taken to a restaurant, which I will gladly grant the label of first  “top class” restaurant I have seen in this country : wonderfully decorated, excellent service, wonderful presentation and a meal which was top of the bill all the way. After this more than satisfying experience, we set off for her home where we were being welcomed by 5 cats and a – let’s say: slightly overweighed- border collie. It has turned out to be an evening of catching up… very long catching up since the clock had gone past 2 am by the time we turned in.

At that stage my legs felt as if they were made of lead, soon to become even heavier. All night long I have been shivering with fever in order to wake up this morning with a throat, which doesn’t allow me to swallow at all. Wrapped in 2 blankets, I am seated on the mat in front of the fireplace, set on maximum, and yet I don’t manage to get warm. After rainfall, the suns starts shining… I can only hope that my sun will start shining really soon.

Shivering regards

Charlotte

Copyright : Charlotte Descamps 2012

A lazy Friday it has been: time to work on my blogs as I started to get hopelessly behind. I enjoy the rest in the house, the hospitality of this family, the freedom to do as I please.

After another excellent night sleep (I wonder how many different beds I have been sleeping in since I started my journey?) the day comes too soon. My hostess had suggested that we would go for an early morning walk and that meant getting out of bed , sooner than I have been used to the last couple of weeks. Sure I love walking but long gone are the day that I got out of bed at the crack of dawn. Although the idea of an early start didn’t appeal to me at first, now all I can say is that I am so pleased, I let myself being talked into this. We set off for a short drive, direction Red Hill. At first I thought that “hill” was a bit of an overstatement but soon I came to realise that it did involve a fairly steep climb. Good to get warm as the mornings in are cold. Climbing up, Jacques Dutronc’s song “Il est cinq heures, Paris s’éveille” popped to my mind. With a bit of alterations, it could have applied to this morning too with that difference that one has great views here, big skies and silence which was only  broken by an angry Mack pie, upset over the early disturbance of his territory. Wet grass under my feet, a rainbow in the sky and wind that all of a sudden swept over the top of the hill: what else can one dream off?

Saturday evening was going to show me another aspect of the Australian culture. It was my first (hopefully not my last!) introduction to a party, in this case the 50^th birthday party of a lady who stayed with me last year. The theme being a Venetian evening, meant that everyone was supposed to wear a mask. I have to be honest in saying that it doesn’t make it any easier to talk to someone as often you have no clue whom you are talking too! A practical problem (it is fairly difficult to empty a glass with half of your face covered up) came at my rescue : those masks soon disappeared in all directions! Snacks of all kinds were being served,  many of which I had no idea what they could be made off. Those who know me, will be familiar with my ground rule when it comes to eating: what the eyes don’t like, doesn’t make it to the mouth… Good fortune was the light was dimmed: in other words, the looks didn’t stop me from eating. All in all an Aussie party isn’t all that different from an European one: there is some dancing (but not as much as I had hoped for) and some drinking (and for some: more than I had hoped for!). In Belgian terms, Aussies would be referred to as “not dead from the first drink”.  I got “home” at a civilized hour in order to go to bed,  dreaming of a wonderful evening.

One can not always party, and that I have known! On Sunday my hosts have invited me along for a special activity: picking olives. A friend of theirs has several olive trees which need to be harvested before the severe frost sets in. Neighbours, friends, relatives: anyone who was in for a combination of fun and work, was more than welcome.  Never having seen an olive tree from close by, I had no clue what the procedure was. One bonus: one doesn’t need to present a degree to do the job, a bit of logic thinking and good organising, takes you a long way. The olives are actually not being picked by hand but are literally shaken off the tree by men operating “shakers” . The others were positioning nets, clipping them, unclipping, handpicking the last olives, moving the nets forward and reorganising them around the next group of trees, once a lot had been done. We soon proved to be a good oiled machine, advancing at good speed.  At lunch, the whole group was invited to the farm for a meal which, I swear to God, was the best I have eaten since a very long time. The mushroom soup was beyond superlatives, the lamb was so tender… and having worked: I felt hungry so I did honour to the cook! Drawback of spoiling the group to that extend, was to be seen in the afternoon: we could barely bend over! Another couple of hours of picking, to end up at a table with home made pie… there are worse ways to pass a Sunday!

It had been a long time, since I did such physical work. Having said that, I enjoyed it to the most. It brought back long time memories: where are the days gone to, when we had a large group of locals helping with the harvest of cauliflowers on my home farm? The long table, full of food, the cheerfulness… I had a blast from the past yesterday.

Not the best night sleep has rounded of my stay in Canberra. I honestly wonder whether I will find any better on this planet. Perhaps I will, as many of my Aussie friends keep on saying that I shouldn’t take any decisions as to where to settle, until I have been to New Zealand.

An early flight was awaiting me on Monday morning, taking me away from the city I came to feel so connected to. Chris was so kind to take me to the airport where I could board the plane less than 40 minutes later. At the beginning of my trip, the fact that I arrived less than an hour in advance, would have made me incredibly nervous. In Canberra, it never crossed my mind that I could miss my flight… Is this the Aussie mentality nestling under my skin???

Melbourne has neatly build its airport out of the centre, but not to worry as there is a bus service which takes you right to the main station in some 45 minutes. Once arrived there, it was only a matter of finding the train to Malvern ( a suburb of Melbourne). No problem there too (after all I am an experienced traveller by now) . After a short walk, I arrived at Brent’s office where - thank God- I could leave my suitcase ( which seems to get heavier from one city to the other) behind.  Back on the train again, direction city centre as I was eager to explore what Melbourne has to offer.

Of course I knew that I am biased in my opinion: now that Canberra has stolen my heart, I was having very high expectations of Melbourne. Clear enough that this city not only differs in scale (360.000 inhabitants in Canberra versus 4 million here) but sure enough also in atmosphere. I am writing this blog, sitting on a square, right in front of St Pauls cathedral. Sky scrapers (although not half as high as in Toronto) and old buildings (going back to the 1800’s) are standing side by side. While looking at the cathedral, one could easily dream to be in Europe, when looking across the street, it immediately becomes clear that this is not Europe.

This city claims to have the second most extended network of trams (only to be beaten by Lisbon) in the world. I can only confirm this statement must hold some truth as one can barely take a picture of a historic building, without a tram flying through the image!

And yes, they cater for their tourists here. Not only by offering a square with free WIFI but also by providing a tram which tours around the whole city. This old tram (and I mean: really old) stops at numerous places, giving you the time to explore sightseeing places around. It was my very good intention to do the full tour to start with, then deciding where I would like to spend more time. Not all intentions make it to reality, nor did that one!  After 2 stops I couldn’t resist to get off,  to visit the parliament house. And hurray, since I arrived in perfect time to join a guided tour. What I have learned from that guided tour is that timing is everything in life.  On July 1^st 1851, the state Victoria was born ( previous to this was part of New South Wales) … and just a fortnight later gold was being discovered. The gold rush was a good news show for Victoria as the young state could start off without any financial worries at all. In Dutch, there are several sayings to make clear that someone who is well off, likes to show off as well but I have no clue how that translate into English. I do have an impression though of how it looks in reality. Both the lower and the higher house have been decorated with gold and one has to admit: when sitting on the source of it, it wouldn’t be correct to be tight. A rule, which was very well understood here, since not less that 12 million dollars were invested to make sure one would notice this state produced gold.

At the beginning of the tour, the guide had inquired where his audience came from. Apart form Africa, every continent had it representatives. Our country, being a small nation such as it is, had one single person to defend the colours… In the library, all of a sudden the guide, inquires where the Belgian delegation is hiding and then he points up, saying “Made in Belgium”. A crystal chandelier of a size which is too large to even describe proved to be coming from our tiny little country. No doubt that the firm, Val Saint-Lambert, must have known that money was not an issue, when designing this chandelier. I guess they have lived up to the expectations as the light is now breaking into the room in a ray of thousand colours. Did I suddenly feel  a glance of national pride???

After the tour, it was time to rush back to the railway station as the office of my new host (in Malvern) is a good 45 minutes drive away from his house. The reward he obtains for commuting such a long distance, lays in the fact that his house is situated in one of Australians nature parks. Needless to say that it feels as if I have discovered another part of heaven…

My hostess cooked a delicious meal (I am spoiled rotten in this country!) after which we had a serious discussion on the way the aboriginal inhabitants have been dealt with. I openly admit that I haven’t got sufficient background knowledge to judge really, but having said that, as much I try to understand her arguments, there sure are some I don’t agree with. All I can conclude is that this issue must be such a risky one for any politician that wants to sort it out. Should I recommend some of their Belgian colleagues to come and give some advice????

A sound nights sleep, a good shower and on to the next stage this morning : 2 lectures in a girl’s grammar school. Was it me, or was it them but somehow I had the feeling that they were considering me as coming from Mars… I have had better days, no doubt about it. However, it can not have been all that bad, since I was kindly offered a box of chocolates. My hosts will be pleased… no way I can fit an match box in my suitcase, let alone a box of chocolates!

And that is how far my day has stretched. Finishing my blog page in the centre of Melbourne before embarking for a new exploration of this ever going city.

Best wishes

Charlotte

Copyright: Charlotte Descamps 2012