The Carter/Darling Family's Year in Australia!

Gold Reef City and the Apartheid Museum, SA

2009-08-18T13:47:00.015+10:00

An incredible day of fun tempered by a reminder of recent, troubling times. The theme park and museum are within a stone's throw of each other creating an interesting juxtaposition...

James golfs at Sun City, SA

2009-08-18T13:22:00.013+10:00

Though that popular 80s song said something about "not playing Sun City" - I did, and it was a glorious treat.

PS - The blogging has taken a back seat to travel and decompression as we re-surface into our Toronto lives, but I have many, many thoughts about being home and will publish shortly.

July 4-5 Johannesburg with the cousins!

2009-07-13T16:19:00.014+10:00

July 3 - Perth Aquarium and Allie's b-day dinner

2009-07-13T01:08:00.014+10:00

July 2 - Fremantle and Rottnest Island

2009-07-09T22:10:00.014+10:00

June 30-July 1 - Perth

2009-07-09T20:13:00.014+10:00

Next stop - Perth!

2009-06-29T21:44:00.015+10:00

And so we're off. First to Perth then Johannesburg up to London and finally Toronto. 20 or so days of world travel designed to visit close friends and closer relatives and to put the final cherry on the top of this incredible year.

In our final few Melbourne days, we have managed to pack in a few more events and goodbyes that have really helped to neatly tie up our life down under. A fun dinner with Simon and Alex Davies allowed us thank them again for all of their friendship and support - though we couldn't wrestle the cheque out of Simon's hands! Saturday night we had a pizza dinner with our friends Mark and Kathy Wilson and their kids and made some exciting plans to potentially play host to them when they visit next winter. The boys had a few more playdates with good friends as a last hurrah and we even managed to sneak in Transformers 2 and Ice Age 3 (with Colin's friend Jonah and his family) in the last day or two just because.

The boys wrapped up their Australian school careers with stellar reports and we had a few teary goodbyes with teachers, friends and families.That community has been so welcoming and friendly to our entire family that we made a small donation as way of saying thanks. We are hoping they will put the money toward a world map that will be dedicated to tracking all of the countries represented within the school population. Regardless, the school has been the perfect window or door through which we were fortunate enough to discover a very special group of Melbournians.

Maybe the highlight of the past few days was the 10km Run Melbourne run Linton and I did with her two friends and running mates. The culmination of a lot of training for her and a lot less for me, the run took place on a cool but ultimately glorious Melbourne winter morning and wound its way around the Yarra, the botanical gardens and the MCG. We both managed to shave some significant time off of our previous 10k back in October and in many ways it was a fitting way to say goodbye to this adopted home - beautiful weather, a challenging run with friends, over and around many of the iconic landmarks in the city. The sense of accomplishment was two-fold: it felt like a run and a year, well done.

As my final attempt to log and blog a few more classic Aussieisms, I wanted to sum up our year (just for fun) as the most "old school" Australian might, if he (or she) spoke in just a few of the many, many classic expressions that have kept us on our toes over the year. So, here is a final salute to the wonderfully quirky Aussie slang.

Yeah, look. I mean, I'm no bludger but I really enjoyed the chance to wag work, mate. Uni was heaps of fun and I'm pretty sure I didn't cark it. At times we found the tucker a bit shonky, but when we weren't up for a pie and a pot, there was still a Tim Tam and a long black that could get me quite chuffed, mate. The footy has been ripper and them blokes love a good stoush. Look, you can't be no chook in the ruck, mate, and I was just as happy to barrack for the Hawks from the sidelines with 0ne hand in the esky reaching for another tinny of VB. Though we may miss talking about rubbish or jumpers when we return to Canada mate, and I really wouldn't mind driving a ute, we certainly won't miss the blowies. But we will definitely whinge a bit next winter when its cold and our thoughts turn to thongs, bathers and making like a shark biscuit at the beach. We will also miss, in the land of no worries, the servos and salvos, and all the other words them blokes like to end in os. I mean, yeah look, at times I felt a bit crook, almost wanted to spit the dummy when a popsicle became an icey pole and a pepper had to be a capsicum. Down the track we won't miss the ads on the telly for Harvey Norman's stock take sale neither, mate. But at the end of the day, mate, we still have to say good on'ya Oz. It's been fair dinkum. Let us shout a round to you! Tah.

Moving on through metaphor

2009-06-28T15:08:00.008+10:00

I had a dream the other night that upon further review might neatly sum up my state of mind about the end of this Australian odyssey. In my dream, I was on a tram when suddenly the driver decided he had done enough driving and jumped off. Of course, I volunteered to keep the tram, full of people, running. Driving the thing was relatively easy, it was the stopping that gave me fits. As each station came into view I applied the brakes (God knows how I knew which lever to pull) but despite my increasingly frantic and powerful pulls on the brake lever, the tram would stubbornly slide by the stop every time. People started yelling and pleading with me to stop the tram better and sooner but no matter what I did or how hard I pulled, the tram just kept sliding by stop after stop…Now, by putting on my English teacher’s hat or perhaps opening my psychiatrist’s note pad, I wonder if this dream is really my subconscious telling me about the inevitability of our return to Canada. No matter how hard I want time to slow down or stop - the tram is on track, on schedule and not even a Herculean crank on the ol’ brake lever can stop this train from leaving the station!

A second event with equal potential for metaphorical significance took place the other day as we enjoyed our last pizza and movie night. You see, every Thursday night for the past year, we have indulged ourselves in pizza (frozen) and a video from the local independent video store guy. I’m not sure how the tradition came about, it doesn’t matter, but I do remember that at the time it seemed like a good way of creating something fun that we could all look forward to as a family that might, in a way, protect us from any disappointments or difficulties the week may have presented. It’s not something we do at home in Canada and though certainly not beluga caviar and a glass of Dom, it has always felt a tad indulgent – like this entire year. And so again with my teacher’s hat firmly in place I heard something significant in Colin’s announcement last week that this would be “the last pizza and movie night”. Alas, was this a sign from somewhere that all the indulgences of the past year were also over? Did I hear the faint tolling of a bell signifying the end of a year of living…not dangerously…but maybe just a little more carefree? Would two margharita pizzas washed down with a frosty Pure Blonde in front of the latest Pixar goldmine ever taste the same again? Was this big, fat pizza party coming to an end?

My final foray into this metaphorical minefield is perhaps the biggest stretch of the three, but hey, I’m on a roll. The other day Lint and I found ourselves doing some last minute personal retail therapy at the DFO which is a sort of giant factory outlet mall right beside the Southern Cross rail station in downtown Melbourne. As we were scarfing down some mediocre Chinese food, she looked down to notice with horror that her Pandora charm bracelet was not on her wrist! This was bad. In a panic we proceeded to ask at every store we had been in and to re-trace our steps a thousand times in our head, only to realize with growing dread that if it wasn’t at home then it was gone. The bracelet had been a surprise Christmas gift from me to her and it had begun to accumulate some real significance with charms we had bought or she had been given. Of course, my thoughts were focused on the cost whereas Lint’s were elsewhere. She was focused, quite rightly, on what the bracelet had come to represent – call it a multi-layered metaphor for the entire year’s experience. In my attempt to make the best of a bad situation, I offered that we could always replace it. But Lint said no. She didn’t want to replace it. It was a one-time piece and all significance would be lost on a surrogate purchase back in Canada. And this is really where my final metaphorical marker kicks in.

This year, like that bracelet, has been a one-time thing made up of a series of experiences that will forever remain perfect and poignant because they happened or we made them happen in life’s daily adventure. These same “charms” may be replaced, repeated or even purchased by some, but the buyer will always know, deep down, how real or meaningful they are. The real significant charms come the first time; that first moment when you see newness and perspective you could have never before imagined. And for us, those are the indelible bits of insight and memory that have been etched forever into our charmed Aussie life. They are priceless and irreplaceable and will remain with us, even when the t-shirts fade, the posters rip and the boomerangs stop boomeranging.

PS – We found the bracelet at home. Which as I write this, makes me think there is meaning there, too – but I’ll save that thought for another day.

More June celebrations!

2009-06-22T22:15:00.027+10:00

On the 14th, I had a wonderfully lazy and heart-stoppingly perfect birthday celebration complete with presents, a pavlova cake and eggs benedict at one of the many Rathdowne cafes. Showered with thoughtful cards, a local designer book bag and my very own i-Pod I felt lucky and truly spoiled.

On the 18th we hosted about 20 of our new found friends for a "shout' of thanks at the Great Northern Hotel. We bought a round and nibblies for everyone and enjoyed bringing together all of the people we have met through the kids' school as well as the surrounding neigbourhood. More people came and stayed longer than we expected and we were so happy to offer a more proper goodbye to some of the very kind and friendly folk we can now call friends.

The 20th was Colin's family birthday and we finally managed to follow up on a promise of taking the boys to Melbourne's version of Coney Island - Luna Park. We hit it early and often and despite a few touch and go moments on the swinging boat for Lint, there were no major nausea incidents. The bumper cars, ghost train and the ancient wooden roller coaster that still has the brakeman standing in the middle of the cars(!) were highlights. After the park I dragged the family over to walk the historic St. Kilda Pier for our daily dose of - cultcha! A hot chocolate in the great cafe at the tip of the pier warmed our chilled bones and the tram ride home was a quick and quiet affair as we dosed our way back up Lygon.

And finally, on the 21st, we celebrated Father's Day. It is not actually Father's Day in Australia (that happens in September) but the family was nice enough to give me a Hawthorn Hawks t-shirt and, even better, we played nine holes of golf together as a family! Hooray! What a neat experience. We had the course to ourselves which allowed Al to swing away as much as he wanted while the rest of us played a little more by the rules. Colin's swing is amazing and with the right sized clubs he could be an excellent golfer. Lint hit the ball well all day long and I was my usual inconsistent self.

Just four more days and ways we continue to build some incredible Melbourne memories.

A final ramble about place and perspective

2009-06-22T19:25:00.002+10:00

As a footnote to my earlier blog about belonging to a place, I wanted to offer Rex Murphy’s take on the matter. Recently he voiced some profoundly poignant words in an editorial about Michael Ignatieff and his 30 year absence. As always, Mr. Murphy has found a way to say it far more elegantly than I ever could. He writes:

Idle moments teach and mould us in their way even more than crises. We grow into our real knowledge of a place and a people through the thousand unmarked interactions of the everyday and the commonplace. The sense of belonging is an accumulation of ordinary experiences not marked as they pass. Who we are with and where we are with them is very much who we are.

There is a kind of knowledge about a people and a country that depends on continuity of encounter that is more a reflex of sensibility than an acquisition. Being away so long, does he (Ignatieff) have that reflex? For it is a knowledge that cannot be strapped on - to be acquired, it must be lived. Knowledge is second-hand, meaning is experienced. Living shared experience is the absolute DNA of full citizenship.

I like so much of this. The notion of being shaped by the “everyday”. The idea that continuity has something to do with knowing and understanding – perhaps fully. The brilliant point that “meaning is experienced” and knowledge often comes to us “second-hand”. These very quotable and apt observations on the subject of citizenship not only bring Ignatieff’s qualifications into a vague sort of question, but they also make more sense of our experiences in this year abroad.

And if I admit to agreeing with Rex’s ideas, as I do, then I would also have to admit that though we are more comfortable now in Australia than we were two, three or even six months ago, we are still only scratching the surface in terms of accumulating our local “DNA”. It’s not enough to share one season, one event, one game. In order to really know a culture or understand a people you need to live and breathe the many and various ebbs and flows of life over a much longer period of time.

Interestingly, an editorial in today’s local paper makes this same observation in relation to the recent accusations of racism directed at pockets within Australian society. The article documents the Australian “whites only” immigration policy that in its own proper historical context represents so much more than what is at first glance an outrageous and extremist piece of public policy. Without context and a connection to why this policy originally existed and its relatively laudable intentions, then I would never be able to understand the current state of society with anything more than complete contempt. But we need to know what we do not know so that we do not believe the first, the superficial, or the one most repeated to be the only version of the truth; a trap into which any temporary resident might fall.

We are now citizen enough to know that Australia is more than an Opera House, a big red rock or the Wiggles. We have seen enough and read enough to know why things are the way they are, right now, but we continue to lack the base, the foundation of a deeper understanding, because as Rex has said, those are the things that cannot simply be “strapped on”. Alas, we are leaving now and that knowledge has not been nor can it be acquired, tucked safely into a carry on. We know what we know; no more, no less. To know more might take a lifetime. Or at least thirty years.

Still More Catching Up

2009-06-18T11:20:00.019+10:00

The other week Colin practiced with a local footy team. A couple of his friends play on the Clifton Hill club and one of the boy's fathers coaches the team, so after a little bit of prodding from yours truly he went for it and I went along for the ride. Of course, it happened to be one of the coldest and wettest nights of the winter so far, but he was game and did very well. He has really taken to the game as we've mentioned before and despite not having played nearly as much as the other kids, has a natural understanding of what needs to happen on the field. Combine that with the daily rigours of belting the ball around the playground at recess and lunch and he fits right in. On this night he even had an ex-AFL player helping to coach the side. In spite of all of this, he decided not to try it again, though he continues to enjoy playing on the courts of tennis and basketball.

Both Colin and Alex have had school assemblies recently and both have played a starring role. At each assembly kids from various classes are recognized with merit awards for doing something notable in class and both boys helped to hand out these awards. In Alex's case he got to do it with one of his best friends and he did it very well! In Colin's class, he also had a chance to dress up and present part of his unit on public speaking. He was way cool in trench coat and sunglasses and did his drama teaching father proud with a fine performance.

Last Friday was a curriculum or PD day so we took the opportunity to return to Melbourne's version of the Science Centre where they had just opened a Star Wars exhibit. Fortunately, a friend of ours offered to drive, (his son and Alex are good friends in the same class) and so we headed out over the West Gate Bridge to Spotswood and a rendezvous with Yoda and Darth.

The place was beyond packed and it felt like they had already started to suck the oxygen out within minutes of our arrival. After letting the boys run wild for awhile, it was finally our turn to tour the exhibit which turned out to be quite cool. Along with seeing real or replica versions of the costumes and props used in the various movies, there were a lot of opportunities to apply the technology to real learning. The boys played with a programmable robot while the rest of us wandered amidst the C3PO and Chewbacca models and when it was all over we miraculously avoided parting with cash in the grossly over-priced gift store.

On Saturday, we joined two families for an extremely generous farewell dinner at a local Italian restaurant - that was not La Porchetta. Linton has become quite good mates and running partners with the two moms and their kids are or have been in Colin's and Alex's classes at school. As a small gesture toward their friendship and kindness, Lint gave both women running tops from Canada's own Lululemon. While the adults enjoyed several lovely bottles of BYO wine over nice conversation, the six kids present were engaged in a high stakes round of Nintendo. It was perhaps not what we did as kids when out on the town with mom and dad, but then again, we managed to stay at the restaurant for three hours, enjoying the company of new friends and for that I am truly thankful for a little help from our electronic friends. More importantly, I am thankful for the warm gesture. Realizing we have made friends with people who care about us and who seem sad to see us leave is a very comforting feeling. They like us, they really like us!

The Trouble with "Near" and "Far"

2009-06-15T22:19:00.010+10:00

My favourite character from Sesame Street is Grover. I don’t know if it’s his gangly blue frame or his grovelly voice or just some of the fun and funky things he says and does but he’s my fave – although Bert is a close second and Elmo just ruined everything. Maybe Grover’s best skit is his very simple demonstration of near and far. In it, he runs up to the camera saying “This is near” and then turns and runs into the distance turning to the camera saying “And this is far” and then repeats the whole thing. I love it for its simplicity and Grover’s manic, earnest and ever-tiring need to get us all to physically understand the difference and the distance between the two.

Why do I bring up Grover? Well, recently Linton and I have noticed a strange sort of disconnect between our own lives here (near) and the lives of those living back home (far). One of the things that I think is going on is that – at least from this highly egocentric point of view – when you embark on a major life adventure such as ours, you tend to think that by the very virtue of its uniqueness, you will remain top-of-mind for people back home. In point of fact, I think the opposite occurs. While we think our news, dates and travels are of the utmost importance, we forget that to everyone else back home, who have busy lives with their own news, dates and travels, we are in fact – by virtue of some sort of abstract distance-time-continuum – people without portfolio. There is quite simply something about being “far” away that makes one less real or relevant than when “near”.

We were talking about this over coffee the other day while we reflected on the fact that many people we have told about our return dates have, a few weeks later, asked two or three more times about our return dates! We laughed that maybe it was just us – the slackers with all the time on our hands being able to worry about mundane things like return dates, buying shoelaces or a second cousin’s birthday. Or maybe Lint’s super-planner genes were infecting us both and while we knew what we would be doing on the third Tuesday in July, we were surprised to hear that others back home did not. Or maybe, quite simply, our emails aren’t quite as gripping a read as we thought.

Whatever the reason, and it’s really not all that important, we’ve noticed that for some people despite the explosion and complete immersion of the digital age – with Skype and all its buddies – some people still seem only able to connect with another person when that person is standing in the same room (or in the case of Grover – “Near”). Otherwise, the few thousand kilometers and several days of travel time create a barrier between the person and the reality of the life living far away that prevents events, dates, and experiences from actually existing in the present. In some ways as Linton has said, it’s almost as if some people are saying “I won’t bother connecting ‘til their back because, who knows they may choose to stay! When they’re back and officially within touch of my own reality, then I will re-connect."

This is no rant. Without a doubt we are guilty of the same sort of priority-by-proximity thinking and I’m sure it sounds like my insecurities are getting the better of me, but I still think there is something about distance that changes relationship and which technology cannot yet capture or provide for some people. Certainly, the virtual hug of Skype and the primitive phone call with a clear connection and no delay are wonders of the modern world, but what still can’t be removed is all that space or "far-ness" in Grover parlance. What it ultimately means is that we are all as significant to the day-to-day reality of a distant loved one as the weather in Siberia or a civil war in Turkmenistan because, like an infinite number of other things going on around the world that we have no hope in having any effect on (thankfully in many cases) - the lives of the far away "Grovers" are completely out of touch of our hands.

This might also sound a lot like sour grapes. After all, didn’t we pick up stakes and move down under to try on a new life – with new friends, experiences, etc? Why then would we be so concerned about the prospect of not being "on the radar" back home? Well, I’m not. I don’t think. I just think it’s interesting that distance seems to create a void or a barrier or a delay between people that I don’t think exists to the same degree when you live just around the corner…

Maybe Grover had it right all along. Near and far are very different and they take some effort to bridge. When you’re near and in another person’s tv screen or face you are by default in their life, too; whereas, when you’re “far” it’s very hard to reach out and connect with people because there’s a tonne of space and a few billion other people in between. We are just now beginning our own run back to "near", and that impending reality is leaving us, like Grover, breathless.

June 8-9 Canberra - Part 2

2009-06-13T17:40:00.025+10:00

Day 2 saw us up early - before most of Canberra had even thought about church - and with a bowl of Cheerios in our bellies we were out onto the open roads in search of the National Museum of Australia. Another brilliantly free venue, this amazing feat of modern day architecture was a wonder to behold. Built in 2006 (I think) on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin, the museum's numerous galleries are designed to tell the continent's story from any number of fascinating angles. The Aboriginal story, Linton's favourite part, is told in rich detail with many, many artifacts effectively and ingenously displayed. In fact, that was the thing about the museum that really impressed me - the thought and layout of the incredible displays. From an exhibit chronicling the experiences of Australia's earliest immigrants to a computer program that allows kids to build 3-D houses of the future to Phar Lap's actual heart (yuck!) we wandered aimlessly through the maze of information, happy to get lost in the lively history of it all. Most of the time we were just able to keep track of the kids as they raced wide-eyed to the next cool encounter.

In spite of a minor coffee debacle on our way out, we were effectively "stoked' by the day's first experience and bundled into the car eager for our next stop - the National Dinosaur Museum. Unfortunately, it was a major let down, at least for this jaded and self-appointed dinosaur expert. Feeling more like Hal and Edna's dinosaur emporium rather than a real museum, this tired and rather stale venue left me feeling "dirty". It was one of those experiences that you absolutely know is a complete and total rip off, happily preying on the dumb tourists with kids who almost don't have a choice. Beautifully, the kids don't see that or feel that, and for Alex at least it was still "pretty good". I did my best to remain interested though the cheesy couches with the drapes thrown over them and the dim cafeteria with its broken down pinball machines made me feel like I was paying to hangout in someone's rec room.

Moving on, we crossed the street to experience our first miniature village and though this too, was the utmost in hokey - it was a better form of hokey. The kids loved checking out the miniature buildings and pressing the countless buttons. Though I was still dealing with my lingering contempt for the dinosaur display, their enthusiasm for this simple novelty attraction was infectious and once again, I was shown up by my kids in terms of finding the positives to life and tourist attractions. If I can just shut off my own very adult and unrealitstically low tolerance for those things that are not, at first blush, appealing to me - then the world could be a far more fun and fascinating place. I'm not sure why I can't get that through my ever thickening head.

With the relative success of the miniature village fresh in our collective of heads, and with the hour still relatively young, I was intent on subjecting everyone to one more attraction - the National War Memorial. I had heard that this was a not-to-be-missed feature of any self-respecting Canberra visit and we were not disappointed. The place is huge and everything about it is done with the utmost respect and detail. Australia has a enormous place in its history and its heart for its "diggers" and things like ANZAC day and Gallipoli continue to resonate in the lives of all Australians. They are immensely proud of their contributions to any number of conflicts around the world and this museum does that sacrifice proud. There had to have been 40 or 50 of the most compelling and detailed diaoramas re-telling the stories behind all of the major battles of which the Aussies were a part.

There was a particuarly well done area for kids with re-creations of trenches and submarines and even a full scale helicopter. The kids, along with a few hundred other kids, had a fabulous time checking radar, steering the sub, looking "over the top" and playing soldier. I guess that sounds a bit strange but it felt like a safe place to start our guys thinking about what will eventually be a much more difficult conversation. And speaking of difficult conversations, I had one with one of the volunteers in the exhibit who first of all mistook me for an American and made some disparaging comment about the Yanks' lack of effort in WWI. Then, when I pointed out that the Canadians were in the trenches 2 years before the Aussies even got there, he continued to try and jam his Australian version of the facts down my throat. I wasn't up for the challenge and didn't see much point in arguing with a patriotic volunteer, but I did leave feeling that somehow his pride was getting in the way of the facts. Indeed, there have been a few moments like this one when it felt like Australians were too desperate to distinguish themselves as being both unique and competitive on the world's stage. Then again, like a good Canadian, I cringe at the first whiff of any type of nationalistic fervour. Maybe I should have taken him on...

Anyway, we were pleasantly pooped after the Memorial and headed back to our hotel for a little "chillaxin'", a pasta dinner and a touch of room service. After a nice homey meal, I was feeling content and at peace with our trip, even though Colin was kicking my butt at Trivial Pursuit. We had finally seen enough artifacts and institutions to feel like we actually knew something about this great land and our imminent departure could now occur with few regrets. And yet, though it will only be home for a few more days, the fact that I have gained a greater appreciation for the country as whole and a home may in fact, make leaving that much more bittersweet. And that's a good thing!

June 6-7 Canberra - Part 1

2009-06-09T16:43:00.024+10:00

About five hours into our return trip from Canberra, I said something to the kids about being only two hours from home. It was part of my lame attempt to stave off their growing boredom (mine, too) and to keep things in the back seat "positive". Their reaction to my update was as desired, but I was also taken by their seeming enthusiasm for the notion of coming home. Many times over the course of this year, I have often caught myself when I said the word home, wondering if it needed a clarifier like our "Melbourne home" or our "home away from home". However, most of the time and this time included, the reference to home was accepted without question or correction - we were heading to our home (in Melbourne) and that was good enough for them. Of course, recently the talk has centered more on our other home, our "real" home, and that topic has also generated all kinds of enthusiastic discussion. Yet I wonder, when it comes right down to it, if the notion of home merely applies to that place where you most often sleep, eat, live and by a strange sort of "squatter's rights" scenario, one's home becomes the place where you've done the most living, most recently...Regardless, we are about to be moving homes again and the anticipation is enough to make even me ask, "Are we there yet?"

Our trip to Canberra, was by design, an attempt to keep our minds and bodies in the present and in that and many other respects it was a roaring success. The drive was long - about 650kms or 7 hours, but there was little traffic and with Nintendo's fully charged and a planned lunch stop at Rotten Ronny's - we might have gone a lot further had our bladders not also been full. It was otherwise uneventful and even though we were armed with the best directions Mapquest could muster, there were really only three turns necessary before we were drving down mainstreet Canberra.

As Australia's eighth largest city and the largest inland city in the country, Canberra is an interesting study in urban planning. Built in 1913, the city was planned by an American and chosen as a capital in order to quell the rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne. The city is laid out in a spoke and wheel pattern as opposed to a grid system and is known as the "bush capital" due to its many gardens and parks. It is quite a beautiful city and is home to many, many national galleries, museums and memorials and we were there to enjoy as many as time would allow.

Our hotel was conveniently located on Northbourne Ave on the "northside" of the city and a short walk to all the action. Due to the long drive we "chilled" at the hotel with a swim in the shoebox of a pool and then went downtown looking for grub. We had been putting off eating at this chain called the Hogs Breath Cafe due to its tacky ads and tackier food - but with hunger high and energy low we finally gave in...we should have held out. Slow is not the word for the kitchen and it took an hour to get things like fish and chips and a salad. With the exception of an equally grim meal in Lorne, this might have ranked as the worst meal in Oz!

Next morning we were up and at'tem and off to our first stop - the Australian Institute of Sport. A huge federally funded campus, the Institute selects and trains Australia's best and brightest sports talents in an effort to win more Olympic medals and bring more athletic glory to this sports mad nation. We had a great tour guide who was half Canadian - his mother is from Edmonton - and we were impressed with the nine year old gymnasts vaulting through space and the 17 million dollar swimming pool. We were also aghast at a typo on one of the displays that suggested an Australian skier had won her bronze medal at the Olympics in Albertville, Canada! We felt somewhat vindicated by the fact that we might not win as many medals as the Aussies, but at least we know where the Olympics were held. Sheesh!

Then we were off downtown to the southside of the city and across beautiful Lake Burley Griffin. The strangely modern and striking parliament buildings stand as a beacon from whatever vantage point you take in the city and we had a wonderful view of them as we made the turn for Questacon - Canberra's answer to the Ontario Science Centre. Alex was beside himself with excitement as this was the place he had been looking forward to for several weeks. Built as a stand alone science centre, the building is new and very modern and does not have the 1970s hangover that lingers throughout Toronto's centre.

Our first stop, after the requisite dinosaur exhibit, was an area known as the Sideshow which had among other cool things, a 6.7 metre free fall that gives one the impression they are - falling 6.7 metres straight down. Needless to say the parents were not in, but the kids gamely strapped on the jumpsuits and headed for the high bar. After a moment or two of hesitation Colin plummeted safely back to earth, but when it was Allie's turn, common sense got the better of him and he bailed. Frankly, I was amazed he even climbed the stairs and after a few tears of fear, he was able to shake it off and enjoy himself immensely. The rest of the time was spent learning how not to be eaten by crocs, experiencing a "real" earthquake, and riding a virtual roller coaster. This place would rate highly on both boys' Rate-the-Weekend review.

Dinner on this night would be Chinese, as it always is when we are trying to avoid battered or fried. The place was packed and I think they had good food but the combination of Alex being in a bit of a funk and my lame ordering and all we could think about was bed. It was a fun first day in Canberra and we settled into a rental movie that night, comfortable in the knowledge that tomorrow's attractions looked to be equally cool and many were for freeeeeeeeee....! (Sorry, inside family joke - unless you've seen the movie Bedtime Stories)

Coughing our way to Canberra

2009-06-04T21:21:00.010+10:00

Tomorrow we're off to the nation's capital - Canberra in the ACT(Australian Capital Territory) for our final Australian adventure. For one or two mad minutes we toyed with the idea of blasting back up to the Gold Coast for a little more glorious beach time, but the decadence metre was off the charts on that one and so we are staying a little closer to home - a mere 8 hour drive - and seeing a place that gets mixed reviews from all we ask. Some say it's as boring as watching paint dry on a cricket pitch, others have said it can be a great town, and surprisingly still others have never been. We are quite happy for the diversion in these final, rather slow days in Oz, and the more I think about it, the more fitting it seems to be ending our Aussie adventure with a trip to the place which might be best able to teach us the most.

I wonder why we don't have a similar capital area in Canada like Washington, D.C. or the ACT. Such an extra state or province, might have gone a long way toward getting rid of the some of the self-serving regionalism that so often plagues our politics. Or maybe not. The folks in Victoria have it in for their neighbours up in New South Wales, much the same way the BC Nation would like to think Ontario deserves everything it does not get. Regional squabbling would seem to be alive and well wherever you go and speaking of going places - with this trip and our fly through Perth on the way home, we will have visited all 8 states in the country. Something few Australians have done and something of which I am bizarrely proud. Also makes me want to knock off Nunavut and the Northwest Territory in order to complete a similar sweep at home.

Anyway, as I said, this trip is coming at a good time. I am officially finished my Masters program with a few marks yet to come in, and we are in full pack up mode around the house. The weather has turned damp and grey, a sort of late October feeling without the frost, and everyone it seems has a sniffle a wheeze or a hack. Swine flu has this country gripped with fear and Victoria seems to be taking the brunt of it. The regional bickering has even managed to find its way into this debate with Sydney-siders avoiding Melbourne in droves thinking we are all living with the plague. Bizarre stuff and all things which are making us increasingly itchy to get out of here for a few days.

Indeed, the swine flu and a recent and very unfortunate spate of violence against Indian students, are two more moments in this city's present day history that are teaching us so much about what it means to live in this distant island nation. As we have already experienced, they are rightly vigilent about virulent strains of anything entering their country and you don't have to have had a beagle sniff your crotch to know that. Though we can't speak for the rest of the world, and maybe we've been conditioned by SARS to have a little bit more of a que sera sera attitude, the Australians (or maybe it's just the media) are freaking out about swine flu, even in the face of local and worldwide statistics that don't support such enthusiasm. Of course the authorities need to do or to be seen doing all the right things, but I am still waiting for someone to report the fact that it's not really killing anyone, any more than any other flu, or the drunken brawls in the CBD on any given Saturday night.

The Indian attacks are for me, as an outsider, a far more troubling reality because they are coming very close to killing people and the symptoms of the disease have been born right here in Melbourne. Every city has its racial tensions and no city is immune to violence between ethnic groups, but for some reason there is a loose lawlessness pervading the dark corners of this city that continues to ruin its reputation. The drunken all hours brawling in the downtown core, the bikers (bikies) with their daylight hits, the underworld and mob influence that simmers behind the political lines, and these recent random muggings all lend an air of intolerance that stands in stark contrast to the artistic and athletic centre-of-the-world that Melbourne certainly is. There has been no explanation for why Indians and why so many attacks lately, but for this amateur sociologist the recent assaults may stem from a combination of worsening economy, isolationist tradition, and a city that is reaching its breaking point in terms of cultural assimilation.

And so we have loaded up our coughs and kleenex, eager to beat a retreat from the troubles that have added some weight to recent grey, May days. It's a long way to go, but we four are excited. Partly because the travel has become a favourite part of the adventure and we feel the need to "stretch our legs", but also because in Canberra we see an opportunity to shed new light on a country that continues to astound and amaze with every passing day.

Footy, friends and playdates - oh my!

2009-05-31T09:12:00.014+10:00

Last Sunday we took five of Colin's friends to the "G" for an early friends birthday party. The Hawthorn Hawks were playing the Melbourne Demons and this seemed like an excellent way to celebrate one's impending 10th birthday. Needless to say this household has become a bit obssessed with footy! We have the hats, the scarves, the shirts, the cards, the posters and a thorough knowledge of most of the players in the 16 team league. We also know which coaches are in danger of losing their jobs, who is hurt, what their injury is and when we can expect them to be back on the pitch. Going even deeper - we know what clubs are in trouble financially, where players like to go out, and which player marriages are on the rocks. We might even admit to knowing a few players' scoring average per game in odd days of the month when the wind is blowing from the north at night. I'm not sure the good ol' CFL will ever look the same again.

Footy players and sports stars in general are minor-royalty in this town and as goes your team's fortunes on the field, so goes the mood of the nation - or the suburb that you barrack for. Unfortunately, there's been no lack of bad behaviour recently, particularly in the rugby league circles, and at the core of it is a drinking culture and a set of mores that generate a lack of respect for women by young men. And the officials in charge of picking up the pieces after each embarrassment can't seem to get it right, often pouring more fuel on the fire by saying things that could be construed as nothing better than a lacklustre "Boys will be boys" defence. There are no lack of footy shows on the telly, with pudgy old guys stuffed into bad suits, decrying the end of the "golden era" and the fact that the entertainment is being taken out of the game by rule changes and restrictions on what players can and cannot do. It doesn't take too much imagination to equate these complaints with a desire to return to the good old days when men were men and to the winners went the women, I mean the spoils.

Anyway, it is still a fantastic game and an even better spectator sport and so it was with great enthusiasm that we boarded the Toorak Tram and headed for the MCG. Perhaps, a little too much enthusiasm. We knew from the outset that this was going to be a "full on" adventure and several parents congratulated us on our bravery. I even had a nap earlier in the day to prepare myself. Undaunted by the challenge and in preparation for the big game and party we painted our faces in team colours, filled loot bags with team bouncy balls and footy cards, gave Colin his very own Hawthorn guernsey, and ordered mudcakes for the post-game celebration. Though not quite at the scale of our highly successful Hallowe'en Party, we were ready to give this party "a go".

I must admit that these types of activities are not my favourite events in the annals of parenting and regardless of whether it is one or one hundred of the nicest kids in the world, I struggle to be at my best. I suppose if they all walked and talked like angels and did everything I asked in the right manner and at the right time then maybe I would react differently - but of course that's as likely as my head suddenly deciding to reverse the hair loss! The adventure as a whole was fine, and apart from the need to ask all of them to calm down, be quieter, wait their turn, not kick the seat in front of them, not climb on things, stop punching each other, pass don't take, slow down, hurry up, watch the tram, say your sorry, don't swear, say please, say thank you, and have fun, but not too much - I think the party was a success. Do you think I was asking too much? Regardless of my impossibly high standards of deportment I think everyone had a good time and Colin received some very nice gifts (including footy ball, scarf and video) from his friends.

The energy of boys continues to amaze me and in spite of my own puerile complaints, increasingly sensitive ears, and diminishing tolerance for chaos, I am fascinated by the exhuberance of youth at hand. The wonderfully reckless abandon with which they throw themselves into things like footy games and playdates is inspiring, energizing, scary, and trying. It's enough to make one feel very old and very young all at the same time. It also makes me wonder when the last time I ever did anything with the kind of energy and passion that a ten year old is capable of. Linking all of that youthful enthusiasm to the aforementioned and not so savoury hijinks of the men ten years their senior, I continue to wonder how you raise boys in a way that retains their energy but directs it, just enough, to be productive and responsible. I think the trick might be to stay "in the game" as long as you can, modeling and mentoring all the right moves. By parking yourself on the sidelines too soon, you leave them no choice but to look out and up to others who just may have forgotten the rules. Parenting and playdates, it would seem, are rarely spectator sports.

"Looking back home" with Iggy

2009-05-29T10:00:00.011+10:00

At the risk of turning this travelogue into a political op-ed piece, this entry was inspired by the recent ridiculousness coming out of our nation's capital. Stephen Harper’s recent attack ads on Michael Ignatieff’s 34 year absence from Canada has got me thinking about the effect of being away from one’s country and whether or not it really is a good or a bad thing for anybody - from aspiring prime minister to a guy doing his masters. What do we lose by moving away?

It’s a strange thing indeed, call it the traveler’s paradox – the notion that we learn more about what it means to be a member of a nation by being away or removed from it. Some might say if you truly want to get to know a country you need to travel from tip to tail, or coast to coast in order to soak up all that defines its many people and regions. However, I would also say, on top of the coast to coast stuff, one need also to get in a boat on one of those coasts and sail off to faraway lands in order to then land and look back. The perspective that comes from standing somewhere new, is at once bracing and brilliant because of the life it forces you to consider right under your feet – a reality that your mind simply could not fathom before it actually sees it, stands on it. It is a place altogether different from one’s own and it is full of lessons for the willing and observant traveler. But does that perspective come with a cost?

Though we have not been away from Canada for very long, there is something in my own shifting perspective that makes me wonder if there isn’t something at the very core of Harper’s small-minded complaint that might actually be true. While away we have immersed ourselves in a new culture and have tried very hard to understand it, accept it, and grow within it. In doing so, Canada and its ongoing relevancy has taken a firm backseat to the world that opens up to us every day just outside our front door. And while we are, of course, interested in friends and family and whether or not the Habs were going to make the playoffs, there is a certain sense of disconnection one feels from home-based concerns because there is simply very little one can do to affect their outcome. (I used to think simply by watching the game, I could help the Habs win….) It really makes me question how an academic like Ignatieff could hold Canada in his head and heart for so long.

Of course, the reverse of Ignatieff’s self-imposed academic exile can also be seen in the homebody attitudes of people like Stephen Harper. His belief in the trilogy of faith, family, and fatherland must be attractive to those who have not had the chance or taken the opportunity to peer across a border. In his world foreign countries are strange faraway lands where we only need go to fight wars, negotiate trades or to bring home hockey trophies. Personally, I think the CPC is so paranoid about finding that it is relatively alone in the world of political ideology that it doesn't dare go anywhere that might conflict with its antiquated view. Thus, Harper pulls up our borders, stifles the media, scrunches up his shoulders to block out the socialist din, and stays at home because home is good enough. It is an unsustainable model in the new global community and a leadership style that I predict will be shown the door very soon in Canada.

Which brings me back to Ignatieff. There is no doubt that he is intelligent and has that je ne sais quoi that Stephane Dion lacked. He is also an accomplished world traveler with bags and bags of experience looking out into the world and learning what other good people are capable of. As Linton so aptly put it, “What does it matter where he has lived his life as long as he has integrity and governs well?” Which immediately makes much sense. And yet, there is a little niggling red flag in the back of my mind for which I have the Harper attack ads to thank. If you are indeed about true partriot love, why haven’t you spent your time in Brampton, Moose Jaw, or Goose Bay? Or am I just another pawn in the constant "spin" of the electorate?

I do think it's a shame more Canadians can’t find what they are looking for within our borders, but to say that is to deny the many that do. And maybe that’s where I’m missing the point altogether. Canada is indeed a great country, made great by the fact that we are so willingly a collective of other nations and attitudes. And because of that greatness, that sense of strength and pride we gleen from our heritage, we are empowered to venture out into the world to explore, to study, to live and to grow - safe in the knowledge that we have a perspective that’s been expertly honed at home - teaching us to be open and accepting of all we may find. Maybe, just knowing enough about one's own country is, in fact, enough.

And yet still, this year tells me there is a distinct benefit to "looking back" from somewhere else. By seeing different parts of the world one gains a better appreciation for how other people live as well as insight into how we might do things better or differently. While there are many things that work in Australia that would never work in Canada, just learning that there are options to living life is incredibly empowering and makes one want to try to be more creative and open to change upon return home. In a very short time, Mr. Ignatieff will find out if Canadians share my opinion.

I recently read with interest the speech The Globe’s Stephanie Nolen gave to recent graduates of the journalism program at King’s College. She said that her life abroad had taught her, among other things, that to be Canadian was indeed a privilege and that by exposing herself to some of the most harrowing and harsh places on earth, she had gained a profound appreciation for the country in which she was born. Though I don’t think Harvard or Cambridge have offered Mr. Ignatieff the same kind of perspective as the one about which Nolen writes, I do hope that he is home to stay and to make a real difference – a difference I know he could only have known how to make, by being away.

On Lego, museums and the luxury of time...

2009-05-21T14:34:00.007+10:00

A year or two ago I had this glorious experience of spending three, maybe four hours of playing Lego with Colin and Alex. We were in our basement at Harwood and I must have been enjoying one of the perks of being a teacher, another holiday, but also another chance to spend time with the kids. Our goal was to try and use every last piece of Lego we owned in order to build the biggest and best Star Wars space station the world had ever seen! And we did. Use all the Lego that is. And we did it together, with only a pee break or two, without a cross word being spoken or anyone clamoring for the TV, a video game or the need to see daylight. I don’t even think we ate.

For a dad and a parent, it was a beautiful thing on many levels. We had of course played with the Lego before, but what struck me as being so memorably joyous was the sense of unlimited time the three of us had to simply play, together. I will admit to a major numb bum and several parts of my body refusing to sit cross-legged for longer than a minute. I also remember the dizzy sort of delirium I battled while looking for a grey flat piece with only 4 nubs against our grayish, flat, nubby carpet…But my point is that we went at it for several hours without a look to the clock, a concern for a meal, or a better place any of us had to be.

I was reminded of this experience recently because Colin had to do a class presentation about Lego the other day and so the family was immersed in a lot of Lego talk, research, building and remembering. In the course of the research and planning, the little bit of Lego we have here received a fairly good workout. Just tonight, we came together again on the living room floor and started to build another, way cool space station. As the boys bickered a bit over which gun should go where, I was transported back to that time in the basement. As I picked up piece after piece and snapped them into random spots, I found myself again free of concern and wholly content to be imagining new worlds with my boys. It also reminded me of something Lint and I talked about just a few days ago…

We were back at the Melbourne Museum, trying to avoid the throngs of people that had plagued us a few short weeks ago. As it was Sunday, we had absolutely no plans and so we let the pace and places be dictated by the kids. It was a great afternoon. Things we had seen before seemed fresh and new. We discovered galleries and places we had never seen before and might not have seen this time if we had rushed through. Turning off the adult impulse to worry about time, boredom, sore feet, or the simple fact that we had been here before allowed Lint and I to see it as the kids see it; we allowed ourselves to play. As we caressed our desperate coffees in the museum café we realized that we all do better with the luxury of time.

And yet earlier today I seemed to have forgotten that lesson already. I spent an hour engaged in a serious Pokemon battle with Alex after school. It does not quite have the same appeal for me as Lego and as with most games and Alex, you need to find creative ways to try hard but be sure to lose in the end. Anyway, it was fun, especially for him, but after awhile my mind and my will started to battle it out. Could I stay for one more battle or could I beg off with “sore knees” or “bathroom break” as legit excuses? Here I was in the middle of another of those glorious parent-child-play moments and I found myself craftily planning my exit. What was I thinking? Why would I ever want it to end?

I didn’t. Deep inside I really didn’t want it to end, but I was tired of the make believe and craved the news, a drink, a website, or something more adult for my Pokemon-addled mind. Was it possible too that I was just played out? I don’t think so. I think it may have been a generational thing- whereas Lego seems to have some innate ability to make the leap across the generational divide – Pokemon cannot – and having used my limited ability to live in the world of Pikachu – my mind inevitably “went elsewhere”.

And so finally, here I am. Approaching the end of the best thing our money could ever buy – time with my kids – and I continue to make discoveries, good and bad, about myself and what’s important. I think I knew of these discoveries before, like that magic moment in the basement a few years ago, but it’s taken a full year of being presented with them every day in order to understand how so much of what happens with our children is as a direct result of what happens with ourselves. By slowing down, looking up, or putting the clock away when the Lego is out or the museum calls then we all have a better chance of living – and playing - in the moment for the first or even fifth time around!

Expansion in a time of contraction...

2009-05-13T14:32:00.006+10:00

Consider this another entry to my list of long running rants along the carpe diem continuum. Another realization about life and living that has managed to wedge its way into my slightly less cramped cranium in the last few days – and it goes something like this.

Time is linear. We move along it or down it knowing (or not) that with every day we get older, hopefully wiser, and inevitably closer to some sort of end. That is undeniable in life and it is becoming increasingly undeniable in our year away. At last, unofficial count, we have a mere six weeks of time before we bundle our bags and bodies onto a few planes and head for home. Seems incredible. But like a sudden brush with mortality, the calendar is starting to remind me that our time down under is becoming short and that we need to keep working at living here, rounding out the experience every day.

But that’s becoming increasingly hard. There are travel arrangements to be made, a house to clean, boxes to buy and then pack and a multitude of things related to life back home that are beginning to come into focus. And the list continues to grow. Meanwhile, back in Melbourne, I still have some things to learn at school, the boys have homework to do and friends to play with, we have places to visit, restaurants to try, life to live and even new friends to make….Yes, new friends to make.

Recently, after meeting a really nice dad who was willing to let Colin practice with his basketball team, I remarked to Linton that it was “Too bad we hadn’t met him earlier”. Not to say that we have not met tons of really nice people, but that here was someone who, with more time on our docket, I could see wanting to get to know better. And what I guess my point is, to this whole blog, is that we should still try and get to know him and any other people who we see at the café or bump into on the tram, whether we have a day, a week, or a year left in our journey.

But, as I have already said, it’s hard. Time is indeed linear and it drifts away from us or, conversely, pulls us along at a speed that people and relationships cannot always keep up with. Building connections with people, seems to me to be a “rounder” process where we build layers and add experiences like the rings of a tree, eventually connecting us together as people in “bubbles of familiarity”. As time moves along, immutable and unstoppable, our round relationships come willingly, follow eventually, or remain rooted where they are and ultimately left behind. Unfortunately, we sometimes weigh friendship and its value against whether or not we “have the time” or our "bubbles" are in sync.

So while we begin to worry about whether we need to bring home both Aussie animal sticker books or the Wall E bed sheets, we also need to recognize that there still might be a friendship, face, or potential "bubble" in the coffee line tomorrow for whom we simply must find the time.

April 14-22 Family in Melbourne

2009-05-11T13:22:00.020+10:00

No sooner had our plane touched down in Melbourne than we were “full on” into the next half of Pat and Bill’s tour down under. For the second half of their stay, we would be adding more family to the mix. Sheila, Andrew and the kids were in town for a holiday having come down from Hong Kong via Coolangatta & Byron Bay and thus, we were eager to spend the next week showing the whole gang the town we had come to call home.

Once again Linton had drafted and re-drafted a clock-work itinerary that saw trips to the museum and Imax, Eureka Tower, Aquarium, zoo, etc. The four kids got along famously and we loved to watch them laughing and playing together. Their endless hide and seek game in the museum park was a highlight.

We broke bread together many times in many different places and hosted a few brunches and lunches chez Macpherson as well. La Porchetta, our cheap and cheerful neighbourhood trattoria, entertained everyone’s pizza and red wine craving after the museum. On another night, Alex and Simon Davies, who knew Sheila and Andrew from their own days in Hong Kong, joined us down in the Docklands for all the meat we could eat at the Bluefire Grill.

Linton and I actually hit the bars of Melbourne with Sheila and Andrew for the first time since we’ve been here and I am sorry that it hadn’t happened sooner. The Melbourne Supper Club – where we were accosted by that drunken Kiwi, the Spice Room – where we might never have got in on a busy night, and the Carlton Club – where the red velvet wallpaper and life-sized stuffed animals were the main attraction – all got our money… but not that much as we stayed for one and were home by midnight!

On another night the adults hit the Melbourne Comedy Festival to laugh along with comedian Mark Watson – whose observations about how boring Adelaide is and the noises old men make was his best stuff. Earlier that day we were all at the footy watching our beloved Hawthorn get creamed by Port Adelaide. Another fun time at the “G” though we are starting to think we are bad luck for the Hawks! After the game, the entire Davies clan joined us for some wicked wheel – gluten free crust and all – back at our place. The Pavlova (pictured) was a highlight! The visiting, chaos and constant food and drink were fabulously fun and made the week fly by too fast.

After waving goodbye to the Cunninghams, the pace didn’t let up as we bundled into a cab and headed for Cirque de Soleil’s Dralion playing in the Docklands. Something about seeing that famous yellow and blue tent flying the Canadian and Quebec flags struck a very patriotic tone in my heart. Pat and Bill toured the Great Ocean Road on the next day – a “must” when you’re in this part of the world - and we spent the last day of their visit with a sumptuous lunch at The Press Club, a Yarra River cruise and a wander through the laneways and shopping arcades.

And then, incredibly, it was over. With a few tears and hearty hugs we bid farewell to Nannie and Grandpa as they made their way to Sydney and the final stage of their tour. Their 25 day odyssey had come to an end and it seemed like only yesterday that Lint had started to plan for it. This time the hearts were not quite so heavy though, knowing we would be reunited in a mere three months’ time.

At times, this entire year has bordered on the surreal because of the familiar feel of life in Melbourne. Apart from the obvious absence of family and friends, there isn’t a lot here (save the heat and deadly animals) that separates it from life back home and we have found, at certain times, its “normalness” pushes us to want it to be more different. When family has arrived, that sense is enhanced in both directions – the city is new and different again because we see it through new eyes but the experience becomes “more normal” because we have our family around us. Selfishly and perhaps somewhat insecurely, we were hoping this week might help to validate this life choice by sharing a small piece of it with family. And though we set out to “show off” the city and to celebrate the success of our year; in doing so, the week also became a wonderful reminder of the role family plays in shaping who we are and the way we view the world.

Catching up with the Kids

2009-05-06T21:16:00.044+10:00

The past few weeks have seen a number of kids' activities go by without having received a dutiful blogging from yours truly. Therefore, this entry is all about catching up with the kids.

The Great Lee Street Fete

Every year the kids' school holds a fall fair fundraiser. It's call the Fete (pronounced fate) and is one heck of a big undertaking. Very early in our tour of duty a parent, who has since become a good friend, asked us to help out with the juice booth. Well, that was not going to be a problem for a couple of intrepid, community-minded keeners like ourselves and so we were officially "on" to help run the Great Lee Street Fete juice stall. One boozy "meeting", one marathon fruit cutting session and one even longer day of serving up fresh juice later and we emerged with complete admiration for the couple who have been running the stall for the past few years. In fact, the whole fete operation was very impressive - from the rides to the food to the behind the scenes volunteers. Kudos must also go out to Lint who pounded the pavement along Lygon street for several weeks in search of donations from recession-weary businesses. That's a tough gig in one's own country, let alone one where you are a temporary resident! Oh yes, the kids had a blast, eating and spending their way to new levels of sugar-induced delerium.

Cross country running

Shortly after the Fete, Colin competed in a cross country running meet for his school where he placed sixth in his age group. That result was good enough to send him off to "districts" which were held last week just up the street at Princes Park. They had to run 2 kms and, considering he had only ever run one race before, we think he did wonderfully finishing a respectable 38th. I don't know if this may lead to more running or not, but it was a learning experience for Colin. I watched from a distance with interest as he dealt with the idea of being beaten by some of his peers and not doing as well as he might have thought. He seemed fine with it, but there was something that seemed to be nagging him...or maybe it was just his dad hanging around asking if he was okay. The photos are from Colin's school meet.

Ceres Field Trip

Linton here - I went with Alex's class and all the Year 1/2s on the tram (yes 70 kids and about 10 adults) north to East Brunswick to CERES (the Centre for Educational and Research in Environmental Strategies) for a full day of learning all about "shelter". This excursion complimented the kids' classroom work on learning about the environment and how humans/animals survive living off the land.

CERES is located on 10 acres on the banks of the Merri Creek and runs on renewable energy, conserves and recycles its water and waste, grows organic food, and teaches diverse audiences about more just and environmentally friendly ways of living. What makes the CERES concept particularly compelling is that sustainability initiatives are located in a participatory social setting which makes it a perfect outdoor classroom.

The kids loved making a variety of different shelters from a variety of cultures - mud huts (African villages) William shelters (Aboriginal Australians) yurts (Central Asia) tipis (Native American) - and looking at animals in their natural environment discussing how they protect themselves from the earth's elements.

Alex really enjoyed the "hands-on" learning experience and running around with his friends. I very much enjoyed it too but was thoroughly exhausted after the day. I cherish this time and the ability to go on class excursions with the boys' school.

Collingwood Children's Farm

Last weekend we took the kids to what surely had to be one of the last must-see sights in Melbourne that we had yet to do - the Collingwood Children's Farm. A larger version of the Riverdale Farm, this oasis of calm and compost in the middle of the city was a very short tram/bas ride away and a nice diversion for a glorious Sunday morning. Filled with the requisite sheep, goats, ducks and stuff it seemed people were there as much for the cafe as for the chance to commune with livestock. In fact, we spent as much time in the line up for food as we did anywhere else...ask Alex! Apparently, the farm is also one of the places in the city where there are often tiger or brown snakes - two of the more nasty varieties in Oz - but thankfully due to the season we needn't worry. Still, I was wary about parking my butt on anything that looked like snake habitat. It wasn't a particularly jaw-dropping experience, but then they can't all be Milford Sound and it was great to be outside with the kids seeing it all through their eyes. And from that, rather more "fresh" vantage point, it was a perfect day.

April 13-14 Dunedin to Christchurch and then "Home"

2009-05-05T10:56:00.028+10:00

I've been doing a lot of learning about learning this year, as you can imagine. The neat part about all of the theory I am digesting is that in absence of a real classroom with which to put some of these ideas into practice, I am finding that my/our personal life is a most able substitute. Take, for example the ideas of situated cognition and metacognitive learning. The first idea suggests that we learn best by doing, often in the place for which the skill is relevant. The other idea is a little more abstract but essentially concerns itself with the need for reflection in the learning process. In other words, people/students need to absorb ideas and be allowed an opportunity to think about and work through how those ideas relate to one's prior knowledge, view of the world, etc. in order to acquire new meaning. In so much of what we have done and seen in this year abroad I have learned something by both experiencing it and then reflecting on "what it all means". Our last days in New Zealand were no exception.

About an hour "up the road" from Dunedin you start to drive along the coast. And in this stretch of endless beach is a place called the Moreaki Boulders. Now, I suppose it's not so much a place as a spot, with a cafe and gift shop, where there is something interesting to see. What is indeed interesting to see are these perfectly round, one million year-old boulders scattered on the beach. They are immediately stunning and fascinating at the same time and they draw you in irresistibly like a mouse to cheese. I have forgotten the geological reasons behind their formation and existence on only this one, small spot of beach, but that just lends more to the mystery. We all had fun climbing up, over and around them and imagining the forces at work to create such odd natural shapes. Mere minutes before I might have said that only mountains could inspire such wonder in the natural world, but situated beside these unearthly balls, my cognition for how the world works was forced to change; something it would have staunchly refused to do staring at the same boulders on tv or in National Geographic.

Leaving thoughts of "what it all means" for another day, we turned north again for Christchurch. A few rather mundane hours of driving later, we checked in to our busy but "interesting" hotel (who hands out those stars anyways?) and decided that a Teppanyakki restaurant was a fitting final meal for some road-weary palates. Or maybe it was just Lint's craving for sake. After a fun meal (though no flaming onion tower) and some free parking we headed back to our motel eager for a little shut eye before the big travel day. Unfortunately, an extremely loud fire alarm roused us from our slumber at 3am and our combined reactions, along with a few wicked cases of bedhead, were a combination of delerium, hatred and abject terror. Nothing primes the adrenalin faster than a screaming siren in the middle of some serious REM sleep.

The next morning, our plane wasn't scheduled to depart until 2 pm which left us plenty of time to do one last touristy thing - the Antarctic Centre! Christchurch is home to a full 70% of all flights to the Antarctic and as such, has an enormous and very well equipped interpretation centre adjacent to the airport. We had great fun exploring the exhibits, the highlight of which might have been the Storm Room where they can recreate -20 Celsius conditions with a wind chill much greater than that. Colin did it in shorts! The other laugh was a wild ride in a Haggland(sp?), a tank-like vehicle specially equipped for negotiating crevasses and ice flows. There were plenty of screams by all as we headed up and down the "Hill of Insanity" - or whatever it was called. Soon after all that fun, we boarded our JetStar flight and headed for home, keen to show Nanny and Grampa our Melbourne life.

And so then to the meta-cognitive stuff I was yammering on about at the beginning of this blog. Over the year, I have come to appreciate the fact that it may only be through travel that one can really learn about another place. Textbooks, internet, maps and photos can help, but there is no substitute for breathing in the air and soaking up the sounds, the smells or the feeling of standing in the actual place - be it Milford Sound or the corner of Yonge and Eglinton. And just as that might be true, in terms of really knowing a place, I also feel that it is only upon reflection and by comparing that experience to one's prior knowledge, that we are able to burnish new and better meanings about the world and our relationship to it. In that regard, our trip to New Zealand taught me a lot about my understanding of the world, but it was only a perspective that I could "see", or perhaps fully appreciate, in hindsight, when the wheels of our plane touched down back in Melbourne.

April 11-12 Dunedin

2009-05-02T11:38:00.029+10:00

With Milford Sound tucked unforgettably into our heads, the next morning we were off to Dunedin on the south eastern shores of the south island and a relative breeze at only 3.5 hours worth of driving. Dunedin, as its name ably suggests, was founded by Scots and so much of it today continues to speak loudly of that heritage. Home to New Zealand's first university, a Cadbury chocolate factory, and an albatross sanctuary, there was much to see and eat here and again, of course, we were stunned by the scenery. Settled in and around a gorgeous peninsula of rolling hills, Dunedin is also apparently home to the world's steepest street which upon inspection might be challenged by a few in North Vancouver. However, with a full mini-van, Dad was reluctant to give it a go.

The Cadbury factory was a fun first stop and we (Alex in particular) marvelled at the Crunchie candy bar mountain just inside the door. A decent tour was highlighted by a deafening and somewhat interactive shower of a tonne of liquid milk chocolate. With Easter Sunday the next day and with no confirmation of the Easter Bunny's arrival in Dunedin, it only made sense that we stock up in the ever so well-placed candy store. Originally intended as a treat for Grampa's sweet tooth, he was not able to partake in as much as he might have liked and so the rest of us picked up the slack.

Then it was off to the local grocery store to wrestle over the last lamb roast. Wanting to eat in for Easter dinner, Pat did an admirable job of fighting off all comers and even better job of cooking it the next day. Tonight's dinner would however, see us part ways. Bill and Pat were off to celebrate their 29th wedding anniversary with seafood while we headed across a very rainy town to munch on a few monstrous ribs and some heavenly steak. After a few late Rugby League and Masters highlights, it was straight to bed for all.

Next day the kid crew was up early and discovered, to their delight, that there were indeed a "few" eggs scattered about the place. After a bit of cereal washed down with more than a few chocolate Easter eggs, we were fed and ready to explore the gorgeous Otago Peninsula. Home to the only mainland breeding ground of the Royal Albatross in the world and bizarre but beautiful Lanarch "castle", we first made a pit stop at a local market to sample the wares and a pretty cool playground. I swear I never promised Alex the amount of time he was bargaining for on the pirate ship, but without wanting to make too much of a scene, the lawyer-in-him got a few more slides out of me. Oh well, did I really need to go at that exact moment - or did I just want to win? No doubt, the latter.

The Royal Albatross Centre is at the very tip of the peninsula and required yet another dicey drive on the side of a mountain to get there. Once safely parked, the views were incredible and soon we glimpsed a couple of the big birds floating above us over the nearby cliffs. Though we did not want to pony up the trop cher tour fee, the free interpretation centre was quite good and a decent lunch convinced us all that we had had our fill. One incredible fact about the albatross that I must share is that once they leave the nesting ground, they often go for more than FIVE years before touching ground or returning home again! And I thought our year was adventurous!

Turning back toward Dunedin, we decided to take the high ground (literally) and very soon found ourselves at the gates to Lanarch Castle, a sort of Kiwi Casa Loma on the very tip top of the peninsula. Built by a gold-rich Australian who eventually killed himself in the houses of parliament, the colourful "castle" is now privately owned and offers some stunning views of the surrounding countryside. We walked the gardens and grounds in awe of the amount of effort and money required to build such a place, but at the same time appreciating why one might want to. You could develop quite a little God-complex living in such a heavenly locale.

Descending into Dunedin we made one last detour for Baldwin street - that steepest street - I alluded to earlier. After sizing it up and turning tail, we headed back to our very comfortable house on George Street in the middle of town. This place, this house, was far and away our nicest accommodation of the trip and a very fitting place to spend a "homey" evening over roast lamb. It was a meal and a moment where more than one of us remarked, "Who'd have thought we would spend Easter in Dunedin, New Zealand?" To which I would respond - about the day, the occasion, the location and the company - "Aren't we lucky."

Reflections on trying not to be American...

2009-04-27T21:28:00.009+10:00

After travelling in New Zealand for a few days, I started to get a vague feeling of familiarity. It was a weird kind of feeling that wasn’t saying “I’ve been here before”, but more like “I’ve felt this way before”. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but after poking my head into a few of the many rugby shops in this country, I put two and two together. On the rack in one of these stores I noticed a t-shirt that said, “I cheer for only two teams, New Zealand and anyone who’s playing Australia”. There it was, staring back at me in 100% cotton, an explanation for this weird sensation. And it confirmed what I had been hearing in the media, the voices of the tour guides and locals in the pie shops - that despite their proximity, the Aussies and the Kiwis really don’t like to get along. Why this relationship seemed so familiar was that, in essence, New Zealand is the Canada to Australia’s United States. Thus, on the issue of national identity, New Zealand felt a lot like home!

It may, in fact, all stem from the vicious rugby rivalry. Actually, apart from the All Blacks and the America’s Cup the Kiwis don’t really match up, in size anyways, to their neighbour across the Tasman. And in that there is a common thread that links Canadians and Kiwis together. Both have larger dominant cultures on our borders. We are constantly and consistently confused for the other. We spend a lot of time explaining that we are not from the other place and why, in fact, we are better than that other place. We are often defined more by our geography than anything else and we are overjoyed when we beat our larger neighbor at anything. Even winning the recession seems like something worth back-slapping about.

In point of fact, during our time in Oz we have spent a lot of time trying not to be American. I would have to say that 9 times out of 10 an Aussie will assume we are from the States. And being Canadian and having had to deal with this all our lives, we usually smile, shake our head and politely say, "No, actually we’re from Canada”. Which usually gets one of the following responses: 1) A pause, then a brief look of confusion and then a shrug as if to say, “No matter, you’re all the same” 2) A pause, and then a knowing nod as if to say “Hey, then you’re alright – another mate from the colonies!” 3) A pause, then a look of concern and then something like “Mate, how cold’s it back home?” 4) A pause, then a look of genuine apology with something like “Sorry mate, I shouldn’t assume. That’s like assuming I’m from New Zealand.” And on that point, I would have to agree, it is like calling an Aussie a Kiwi or vice versa – and none of us, it seems, are all that crazy about it.

It would also seem that both Aussies and Kiwis have some sort of weird “hate on” for the States, or at least the idea of the U.S., though Mr. Obama seems to have lessened the fire, to a degree. So to be mistaken for an American in Australia is to incur the wrath or merely the hairy eyeball from many an Aussie who wonders why we’ve come. Of course, we all do this kind of “cultural profiling” all the time. Right now, somewhere in the “true north strong and free”, I'm sure some well-adjusted Canadians are persecuting some poor Aussie by insisting he eats kangaroo and wrestles crocodiles.

But in spite of my desire to set the citizenship record straight, there are times that I’m quite willing to run to the defence of the Americans. After all, we share the same continent and do tend to get painted with the same brush of distance-inspired ignorance. And while I might agree Americans can be loud or brash, I would also feel comfortable saying that compared to the Kiwis, Australians could be considered loud and brash, too. The point here is that we all get too much mileage and sanctimonious chest pumping out of repeating a few tired stereotypes often in the face of our own inner denial. For Canadians, that often plays out in a sort of “We’re not sure who we are, but at least we’re not American” approach to nation building. And I’ve been feeling that a bit around New Zealand as well. With so few people in such a small (or large) and remote country, perhaps it’s hard to confidently define oneself while looking “in”. Maybe we all need the big brother standing over us in order to chart a course based on nothing more than "not being like him”. Maybe that’s why in our travels around the South Island I can feel them “worrying” about what Australia thinks a bit too much.

The other night we were out for a drink with Lint’s cousin Sheila and her husband Andrew at a trendy bar in downtown Melbourne. After ordering our drinks we were accosted by a young woman from the table beside us. “F@#$!n Americans!” she drunkenly and jokingly slurred at us. Apparently, in her mind, she was the life of the party. She was actually pretty funny in terms of how drunk she was and how young and ignorant she was behaving. The minute we begged to differ and waved our Canadian passports in the air, all was forgiven. “Oh” she cooed, “I love Canadians!” After only 20 more magnificent minutes of her hilarious abuse, it came to pass that she was actually Kiwi! Thus her outburst against Americans started to make more sense – or at least more than she herself was capable of at that particular moment. In all of her self-conscious grappling for an identity, wherein she even admitted to moving away to “make it” in Australia, she could at least be safe in bashing the Americans – because after all we all “hate the Yanks!” I’m not sure why she thought we wanted to listen to her – maybe it was the vodka speaking or maybe the Kiwi saw Canuck as comrade. Regardless, she was thinking and drinking and worrying too much!

And I’m sorry, but I don’t hate the Yanks anymore than I do Kiwis or the Aussies or the Finns. Which is really to say, not at all. Sure, I didn’t much like their past president, don’t admire their health care or gun laws, and don’t really get “grits” - but I don’t hate Americans. And I spend a lot of time trying not to be one in Australia as much to merely educate people about recognizing the difference versus any real aversion to coming from Iowa. The lesson for me here and over there and everywhere is personal, slightly biblical and might go something like this: “Let he or she who lives in a perfect country, cast the first stone…and until then, get over yourselves!” Frankly, it’s all enough to make me just a little more proud when I utter the odd, “eh?”

April 9-10 Te Anau and Milford Sound

2009-04-27T10:40:00.032+10:00

And so we bid a teary Kia ora to Queenstown. Kia ora is Maori salutation that means "be well". It can be used for both hello and goodbye. And though we were saying goodbye in Maori to one gorgeous part of the country, in just four hours time we would be saying hello to Te Anau our launching off point for Milford Sound, a UNESCO world heritage sight and arguably one of the most beautiful places on the planet. It looked like we might get over Queenstown.

Getting there wasn't going to be too shabby either. We pointed our trusty mini-van due south and followed the southern expanse of Lake Wakatipu toward the town of Kingston at its very southern end. It's a big lake, one of the biggest in the country, and the drive along it's eastern shore rivals the Great Ocean Road - at least for hairiness - if not for the view as well. The rating check for nausea levels was in full use for all passengers.

The weird thing about Milford Sound is that, as the crow flies, it's really quite close to Queenstown. However, there is the small or very large matter of a mountain range or two that stand in the way. As a result, you are forced to drive far to the south, following the lake until you have gone far enough to swing north again and drive back up the adjacent valley. In fact, you could easily drive to Milford Sound in an hour if not for those pesky mountains! Sheesh!

Te Anau is a pretty town that was bigger than I expected and seems to claim tourism as its main industry. With very few places to stay in Milford Sound, it's the perfect spot to rest and relax before your trip up the valley. A highlight of our time in Te Anau was a gluten-free pizzeria where Pat could finally enjoy some very good pizza and the mood was fun and festive as we all tucked in to one of our best meals of the trip.

In the morning we were up and at it early because we had a 11:00 am boat to catch in Milford Sound. With a two hour drive ahead of us and not knowing how many photo or nausea stops would be required, we loaded up the lattes and headed out. The first hour of the drive was stunning but relatively flat. The fields were covered with frost and the clouds were hanging low in the valley giving one that sense that we were headed for somewhere truly magical.

After about 1.5 hours, a few 'interesting" bits of road, and two stunning photo ops we came to a traffic light and a traffic jam. Well, not really but traffic was stopped dead. We had arrived at the Homer tunnel, a 1.3 km underground road that burrows straight through the side of a mountain and is the only way "down" to the Sound. A wonder of engineering, it took over 20 years to build with WW 2 getting in the way. It's only really got one lane, hence the traffic light, and within ten minutes it was our turn.

The rest of the road winds its way down to the Sound through a series of switchbacks and before we knew it we were pulling into a very large and very full parking lot close to a very functional visitors centre. I'm always amazed that you can travel so far and still find a latte and fresh croissant just when you need one. No, I guess we weren't exactly "roughing it in the bush" like good Canadians. On the shuttle to the boat docks we detoured by the busy airport where a fleet of helicopters had just brought in some hunters from a week's worth of killing. The freshly harvested deer antlers were a fascination for the boys who I don't think had ever seen the remnants of such a large, living dead thing.

Then, it was over to the wharf where we boarded our Red Boat Cruises boat and got comfy for a three hour tour... a three hour tour...any Gilligan fans? Well, this place, this unbelievable place is at once gorgeous and disarming all at the same time. Just as you think your mind knows what it is looking at, a huge boat appears no bigger than a speck against sheer cliff walls. They say that mountains do funny things to one's perspective of distance and size and I have never been in a place that toyed with that fact so wonderfully. Just as you were awed by the scale of one view, another appeared around the corner ready to take your breath away.

Highlights had to be the seals we trolled up to, basking on the only rock for miles and the waterfall the captain expertly stuck the bow of the boat into. Said to be twice the height of Niagara Falls, it sounded like we were standing beside a jet engine as the spray and mist covered our faces. It was a fun, awe-inspiring, crazy, once-in-a-lifetime moment and one that seems even more poignant when I think back upon it now. I hope the boys aren't becoming blase about all of the incredible things we are doing. I don't think they are. Our trip to Milford Sound and all of its tunnels, antlers, mountains and waterfalls will linger in their minds longest while all the other stuff fades....won't it? I don't see how it can't.

April 8-9 Queenstown

2009-04-25T14:10:00.029+10:00

Queenstown is my kinda town. Not that I'm the bungee jumping type, but I am the outdoorsy, fleece-wearing, latte-slurping type and Queenstown's got all that and more. It reminded my very much of Whistler but with even more going on - if that's possible. Oh, and did I also mention the stunning scenery, world-class skiing, great shopping, killer restaurants, 5 star accommodations and wicked dance parties? It's got it all...but more on the dance parties later.

With the weather continuing to be wintery, our extreme sports window was appearing to be quite limited. I was immediately disappointed that the low cloud cover would postpone my paragliding lesson, but with steely resolve I...Not! There would be no paragliding, ever, but after a coolish swim and a slightly warmer sauna, we decided to scale the local gondola - straight up the side of Mt. Crumpet - or something like that, to take in the view and perhaps a little concrete luging.

Even on this cold and cloudy day Queenstown was hopping. I would need my most aggressive parallel parking tactics just to snag a spot remotely close to the gondola. Actually, the gondola is more like an elevator and my mind played "Spot the engineering fault" all the way up. Just as we miraculously neared the top, we whizzed past the AJ Hackett Bungee Jumping thingy and our/my hearts/heart lept at the mere thought of being on the same mountain as that obvious suicide machine. I don't know what my price is to bungee jump, but on this day a million dollars didn't seem to be nearly enough.

The luge is this very unique and way cool combination of toboggan, water slide, go kart and bicycle and its very addictive. You sit in a sort of sled-like thing holding onto a bike handle bar contraption, using it to break and turn. It is a tonne of fun and after Lint had pealed Alex off the wall in Turn 2, you couldn't wipe the smile off his face. After we all went once, with Bill leading the way, the boys and I "had" to go three more times, just because. If my helmet had even come close to fitting I might have agreed to a fifth run.

Extreme gondolaing and mountain luge were deemed to be enough wild activity for one day, so we headed back to our condo for a little grub and a dance party. We have this family tradition that every once in awhile we turn up the music and jump around the house. For whatever reason the boys were set on working up a few numbers on this night. Thankfully, the back-up dancers (aka parents and grandparents) were relegated to the role of spectator and we sat back to watch, giggle and drink wine as the boys performed 7-8 dances complete with costume changes and lighting effects. Sometimes the best moments are on top of a mountain and other times they are right in your living room.

In the morning we bade goodbye to our spacious accommodations and incredible view, caught a latte at the local Starbucks and got in the queue for our next big adventure - jet boating! All for the low, low price of a year's tuition we had booked tickets on the Shotover jet boats that run mere minutes outside Queenstown. Maybe the best known company in the country and with 2.5 million satisfied and still living customers in the last 35 years, we figured we were in good hands. And as we were soon to find out, we would want expert hands on that steering wheel!

While we had all planned to go, Pat decided that with a rough water warning, the river would do her back no favours. So, it was with heavy hearts we boarded our boat, met our driver "Telly", took a few snaps, and were gone. Two things that struck me immediately were how comfortable I was with padded seat and warm handrail and how friggin' close Telly could get us to the walls of the canyon. Of course, I kept saying, he's done this a million times but still...With incredible skill he slung and flung this boat up and down the river with 20 screaming passengers aboard. We did at least 3 full 360 spins without ever coming off plane and many times Lint, on the port side, could have easily touched rock. The boys were in heaven, including Grandpa Bill who had the front seat, and we all agreed, through wide perma-grins, that this once-in-a-lifetime treat came too quickly to an end.

And with that, we had officially "done" Queenstown. Not in a really extreme, risk-your-life-on-a-dare way, but still, in a kid, grandparent and family friendly way that we will all remember for a very long time. I was sad to leave and I guess the paragliders will have to wait for my return...

April 8 - Franz Josef to Queenstown

2009-04-23T20:57:00.037+10:00

The van was still there in the morning, but not for a lack of trying on the weather's part. Man, this country is wet. The 12 year drought back in Australia seemed to be just a distant memory.

Today was glacier day but we would first need some serious parting of the heavens before the Franz Josef or Fox glaciers would come into view. After breky we optimistically set out in search of a glacier, choosing to park and walk to the nearest viewing platform for the Franz Josef, only ten minutes from our hotel. Thankfully, the rain let up (a bit) as the clouds moved higher up the mountains affording us a good view of what looked to be a glacier in a state of serious recession. I was amazed to see a sign on our drive in that indicated the glacier had been a full kilometre further down the valley a mere 20 years ago.

No longer content with staring at a bunch of ice and snow that wasn't really doing much, the boys indicated it was time to go. Alex, however, thought we were going to climb the thing and needed some serious "talking down" to get him back to the parking lot. Back on the road we decided one glacier was not enough, and with the Fox glacier only 20 minutes down the road, we made a quick detour to check it out. This was a real Chevy Chase at the Grand Canyon moment, as we hurriedly jumped out of the van, peered through some trees, took a few snaps and were then back on our way. Or maybe it was our version of the Amazing Race, and having conquered the detour, we were still ahead of "The Blondes" and the quirky, gay couple...

Whatever it was, our constant companions on this leg would be the winding roads, the rain, and the amazing number of single lane bridges. Like Aussie round-abouts, these babies take a little getting used to as you slow down (just enough) to figure out who's coming the other way. If it's clear then you swing onto the bridge and make your merry way across. It actually works quite well until you find yourself face to face with a semi half way across. Which we didn't. But I can't imagine having to back up, in the dark, over some raging river. I also wondered if single lane bridges were a purely economic decision or more a matter of rugged geography. Hitting one every 10 kms or so certainly gave one enough opportunity to wonder what the Kiwis have against building a bridge with two lanes.

We were now on our way to Queenstown on the shores of Lake Wakatipu - where they never have troubles, at least very few. En route we made a very buggy stop to take a pic at beautiful Ships Creek beach. Within seconds of exposing my pasty bare legs to the elements, these little buggers were onto me like flies on you know what. Like a black fly with a bigger bite, they must have smelled fresh meat and we were only to happy leave them to the German tourists just pulling in. Lunch would be in Haast at a popular diner that again featured fried food and more deeply fried food. When road tripping, like hang overs, grease seems to be all that you crave and I was quite content with my jumbo spring rolls and a few filched french fries.

The afternoon drive saw us climb up around some gorgeous inland lakes, surrounded by an endless display of mountain ranges. We were now in an area of the country that is a mecca for extreme sports enthusiasts from bungee jumping to jet boats and from paragliding to white water rafting. Passing through the outskirts of Wanaka, a smaller version of Queenstown, we decided to take a less major but more direct route along the Cardona Highway. It was a decision we will never regret. This was a road that needs chains in the winter and is touted as New Zealand's highest sealed road. There didn't seem to be one turn where one of us wouldn't gasp at the view, the road, or the drop off below. We stopped for a photo op at the heighest point of the pass and got a gorgeous glimpse of Queenstown far, far off in the distant valley. From here it was only another 45 windy and windswept minutes to our hotel.

Only now, it occurs to me, the beautiful serendipity of this experience. If we had listened to Mapquest or followed the obvious choice, we would have missed this gem and never been the wiser. Instead, we took a risk, tried something a bit different, and with apologies to Mr. Frost...that made all the difference.

April 6-7 - Christchurch to Franz Josef Glacier

2009-04-19T20:01:00.022+10:00

I am tempted to let the pictures do the talking because if ever there was a country that truly befitted that statement - New Zealand is it. But now that I've gotten quite used to the idea of writing my own quirky interpretations of the scenes out the windscreen, I can't quite bring myself to leave well enough - and stunning scenery - alone. Let's just say, in another appropriate cliche, that words cannot describe the things we saw today.

Heading west from Christchurch we were quickly driving in the shadows of the Southern Alps. While the view in the distance was incredible, I was fixated on my more immediate surroundings. The Sheffield Pie shop adverstised some of the best pies in the country and so, quite happily, after only an hour and a bit of driving, we stopped for pies. Back in the van and accompanied by the warm and wonderful waft of a chicken vegetable country pie we once again put our heads down for the hills.

Just before a place called Castle Hill Village we came upon on a very unique rock outcropping. Well, they were more like boulders really, but the size of houses and apartment buildings. They were all stacked and scattered about as if some magic giant had simply emptied them from his enormous pocket. From a distance they didn't look like much, but when you placed a human beside one, the scale of their size and the surrounding hills was chin-dropping. The maori name is Kura Tawhiti and having never seen anything quite like them in my life, it was easy to see how this place could take on an sort of mystical importance. The kids seemed to pick up on the mystery of the place and didn't want to leave.

Soon after our clamber in Castle Hill we were climbing over a very rainy Arthur's Pass in the middle of the Southern Alps. Prior to the actual pass we spent a long time following what seemed to be an ancient flood plain as it flowed through an endless series of bordering peaks. This was my first sense of the place as it looks in Lord of the Rings. Once in the actual pass, it reminded us of Roger's or Crowsnest Pass in the rockies with steep cliffs, deep valleys and roads and bridges inexplicably stuck to the sides of it all. Unfazed by the constant switchbacks, slick road and one particular corner called Death's Turn - or something like that - we slipped out the other end of this impressive drive keen to find some lunch.

Unfortunately, for our stomachs anyway, we were in the middle of nowhere. The first few villages we came across were grey and uninviting with "hotels" that looked like the kind of place the Eagles were singing about - "You can check out anytime you like, but you may never leave". So we pushed on - finally coming to a halt outside a vacant looking milk bar run by a bit of a vacant looking local in a place called Kumara. She was quite nice actually, though the way she looked at us you would have thought we had just flown in from the moon. However, her fryers were shut down and with no more than a few crisps and lollies on offer we were forced to move on again. A few short klics down the road, we saddled up to a very good lunch, all things considered, in another very vacant but decidedly more friendly-looking roadhouse - the highlight of which was the kids platter pictured. Yum! And so good for you, too! I didn't know whether to have the Chips and chips or the Chips with a small side of chips.

Back on the road with bellies bursting, we turned onto Highway 6 and began the Southwest run along the coast toward Franz Josef. We still had some serious ground to cover but with the Tasman Sea now outside our starboard window, we had a different type of gorgeous scenery at which to gander. Throughout the trip I was struck several times by the quality of the air in this country. There is a smell to it that reminded me of walking in the forests of BC. It's a moist, rich smell that I can only describe as air that smells full of fresh, new life. It's one of the best and cleanest smells in the world. Perhaps as a direct complement to that observation, is the fact that we saw so few people, anywhere. As we passed hour after hour without seeing much more than a few sheep and the odd caravan, the more mundane of thoughts that continued to play about in my head was "Where would you buy groceries?"

As night began to fall I nudged the van through the pelting rain and on into the village of Franz Josef. We were here to see a glacier but with rain that was descending in unrelenting, almost deafening torrents, we would be lucky if our van didn't simply float away. However, the glacier and the floods would have to wait for tomorrow; for the rest of this night would be spent with family, good food and a wickedly fun hot tub before bed. Despite the day's turn at communing with this remote and rugged country, we were still quite content to bask in a few of our favourite creature comforts like good wine and warm, pulsating water!

April 4-5 Christchurch, New Zealand

2009-04-17T06:58:00.029+10:00

About 2.5 hours out of Melbourne, our plane crossed the west coast of New Zealand. Trapped in the aisle seat, I had to crane my neck over the large bodies of the people beside me to catch a glimpse of what this new place looked like. When I did manage to steal a glimpse over the breasts and under the chin of the woman beside me, what I saw amazed and surprised me. There was nothing but mountains as far as the eye could see. The tallest were snow-capped, but the majority were dark, grey and forboding. They seemed to go on forever. I guess I had envisioned green, lush forests and valleys where Frodo and Sam frolicked in the shire, but it looked like we were flying over the moon. This would be the first of many wonderful surprises the land of the kiwi would have in store for us.

As we began our descent into Christchurch, I was again surprised by what my sore neck could discern out the starboard window. After flying for no more than 30 minutes past the west coast of the country we were now approaching its eastern shores. I don't know why - but it never occured to me that we were going to be touring a country that was not only more remote but also so much smaller than the monoliths of Australia or Canada. I wasn't even off the plane and the enlightenment that comes with travel had already begun.

Christchurch is a city of about 300 000 people situated midway along the east coast of the South Island. It sits right on top of an ancient volcano and is surrounded by low lying mountains with the larger peaks of the Southern Alps glimmering in the west. Said to be the most 'English" of New Zealand's major cities, the views coming in from the airport evoked Vancouver or Victoria with lush parks and comfortable looking homes lining the streets. It also didn't take us long to see our first rugby game, a school-boy tournament in a local park, reminding me just how rugby crazy this country is -the legendary All Blacks are one of their proudest achievements and exports.

Our journey was starting in Christchurch as we waited a day to meet up with Pat and Bill who had flown in to Auckland a few days before. From here we were going to spend ten days driving and touring the South Island while catching up on missed face-time over the last nine months. Our itinerary - expertly crafted by Lint - would take us to the west coast and the Franz Josef Glacier, down to Queenstown, further down to Te Anau and Milford Sound then over to Dunedin and back up to Christchurch to fly 'home" to Melbourne.

Not content to sit in our hotel all day, though the Heritage was palatial enough to offer that luxury, we scarfed down a sketchy but economically satisfying Subway sub and caught a bus to a local cable car. En route we sat near some ridiculously profane teenage girls who made me a little sad and reminded me that people can be rude in any country. Once at the cable car kiosk I was also reminded about the "island-time" mentality that exists here and in Oz. While empty cable cars headed up the mountain one after the other, the ticket guy was kibitzing with the customer in front of us for what seemed like hours. I had to breathe deeply and relax. What was my hurry? Where did I need to go but up the mountain? Still, I couldn't resist tap-dancing my credit card on his oh, so laid back counter top.

Finally, we were on our way up amidst the sheep and the sunshine. And what a view! After a brief and mildy informative "journey through time" ride we ran about the giant ski lodge-like building loving the 360 degree view, some ice-cream, and the courage of a couple of paragliders who nonchalantly jumped off the cliff in front of us. A brief but bloody brawl between the two boys that left Colin with a nice bite-welt in his back brought the fun to a halt, but not before Lint managed to take advantage of an excellent exchange rate in the gift shop.

A spa and a swim and a few cocoa puffs the next morning were all that separated us from re-uniting with Pat and Bill. They were a teary-sight for our long away eyes and we celebrated with some local grub in a pub. That night we attended quite a good Maori dinner-show-zoo thingy where we were introduced to Maori culture, real kiwis and took at turn at the traditional Maori Haka. It's the dance the All Blacks do before each game and involves a lot of foot stomping, thigh slapping, eyebrow raising and tongue-sticking-outing. The boys and I distinguished ourselves nicely.

The next morning we loaded up the mini-van and headed for the hills, literally. Our destination was the Franz Josef Glacier on a route that would take us into the Southern Alps. It was 4-5 hours of driving but with the momentum of memories from Christchurch also packed in our heads we were keen to see just how else New Zealand might amaze and surprise us.

The Burden of Learnin'!

2009-04-01T18:35:00.018+11:00

Library books are heavy. I know this because I have been recently lugging several of them back and forth between school and our house. I'm right in the middle of several essays and while last semester I seemed to be able to get away with using online journals, cd-roms and e-journals, I am now finding myself cruising the stacks for some hidden but heavy gems of insight. By sheer weight and volume alone I could listen to a good argument for reading more online. But maybe, in order to flex my mind muscle, I need to pump a few paperbacks as well. Regardless, all of this heavy toteing has got me doing some heavy thinking about - the burden of learnin'!

Within a fit of writer's block and while walking among the many weighty and mostly dusty tomes filling the uni's libraries, I was thinking about the thousands upon thousands, millions probably, of writers and academics who have passed this way before. Where did these people find the time to research, write, edit and publish the incredible volume of work littering the shelves? How is it possible to know what you need to know to write something like the Complete History of the Great War and have a life at the same time? Is all of this writing, that looks so impressive, actually any good? I am currently labouring under the weight of my own expectations with respect to writing a few short essays and the "stress" of getting it right and achieving a decent grade at the same time is palpable. If this was my life's work or I was trying to meet my editor's deadline, I'm not sure this hack could hack it.

The other day in my web education class we were talking about the idea that "no thought goes unblogged" and I am certainly living proof of that. So while the academic prose does not flow quite as readily, technology has allowed this amateur writer to step up to the keyboard and instantly capture my apparently unique take on life. It's now, maybe more than ever, a publish or perish lifestyle we lead and my need to blog has become a cheap, cathartic form of therapy - without the couch. But is it good writing or good thought and does it matter? Should my sounding off into the ether bear the burden of proof in terms of actually being able to turn a phrase? And how will I learn to be better when technology makes it so easy to be an expert?

In my diverse learners course we were reading a journal written by an impressive sounding group of academics; future professors, Phds, authors and experts - and I found it to be drivel. It told me things I already knew with data which was largely unimpressive and inconclusive. Published in the Journal of Thinking, Winking and Nod, it came across as being important, but in the end was forgettable. And it reminded me that even for my own high school students, I need to break down the "packaging" that wraps so much of "good writing" in a pristine and irreproachable outer shell. Otherwise they will learn whatever the programmers, publishers, or teachers are selling. The ability to learn through critical analysis and discovery does not come without the burden of learning not just what to lift but how and why.

And speaking of why - last night I was helping Colin with his homework. This is a nightly dance that is often a struggle for both of us. I think he should embrace it and he thinks he should avoid it. For him, it gets in the way of everything and anything he would rather be doing. When I point out small errors, he gets upset. When he makes simple mistakes, I get upset. And as I continue to press him to do a job "he can be proud of", I am constantly trying to remember if I did even half the homework he does at his age...I'm sure I didn't. It makes me wonder if we haven't already got our kids on the treadmill toward Harvard before even knowing who they are or what they might be happier doing. For our kids, school remains fun, but homework has become a learnin' burden.

On still another note and another kid, Alex suffered under his own little burden of learnin' the other day. You see, for whatever reason that seemed logical in the mind of a six year old at the time, Alex decided to cut his hair -with scissors and at school. This might not have been so bad except that he hacked a sizeable chunk out of his bangs and took it right "down to the wood". It looked kind of like someone forgot to replace their hair divot on his forehead. Anyway he was a bit upset and embarrassed about the whole thing and though we were mildly sympathetic, there is of course nothing a parent can do. Nor should we. A great article I just read about children and technology says this - "At the heart of a child's relationship with technology is a paradox—that the more external power children have at their disposal, the more difficult it will be for them to
develop the inner capacities to use that power wisely." I see Allie's haircutting incident as part of the same burden we all take on in learning life's lessons around using the power that we have wisely. Unlike a video game, our actions "in the real world" do have outcomes that we or others might not like. And in life and haircuts, there are very few "Undo" buttons.

And finally there's me and this whole Master's abroad thing. I believe that I have thrown myself into it quite nicely. And I guess I better have. We've spent a ton of money to get here. But as I read and read and read some more, I do wonder what I am expected to do with all of this knowledge. Is it okay to keep it stored away in my brain? Should I use it to better myself, my career, the world? If I don't actually produce anything with it apart from a few essays, what have I really gained? Is higher education there to enhance one's ability to work and think or is it just a way of learning more about the things other people have already thought about - but on a deeper level? What is the point of cramming one's brain or library shelves with "learning"? Do we collect this stuff as a way of validating our intellectual prowess by adding a few more letters after our name?

From my backpack to the library shelves and the from the e-journals to the essays, I continue to wonder aloud and online about why so many of us continue in our attempts to climb higher? Cramming our bags and our brains with more knowledge, do we do it simply because it is there? Or have we been programmed from a young age, sitting around the dining room table after dinner while our ne'er-do-well friends played on into the twilight, that homework and learnin' were the hallmarks of a necessary success? I really don't know - but if the hours spent at the library or dining room table don't result in the desired outcome - is that still okay? Is learning allowed to be just that or must there always be a finished product - like another degree, a lousy essay or even a bad haircut - attached?

Going Walkabout...

2009-03-30T17:22:00.013+11:00

A couple of weeks ago Linton broke her little toe. At least it certainly looked like she did. The purple and black mash of skin where her toe was supposed to be gave her no end of grief or pain and curtailed all of her running and walking activity for too long. Flip flops were her only footwear. This momentary blip in her ability to walk comfortably, reminded us both of just how reliant we have become on our own two feet and just how far we have come and gone - walking.

One of the much anticipated joys of coming to Oz was going to be the temporary and somewhat experimental freedom gained by not owning or operating a car. We had chosen to take this year of opportunity to try, among many other things, and live without the many conveniences and expenses that owning a car brings. No insurance. No gas. No parking. No dings, dents or depreciation. No nothing. We figured not driving a car was going to, in fact, make us money! And in the process we would gain the less tangible but nonetheless satisfying perks of less personal responsibility for global warming, better fitness, less traffic-induced stress, as well as the chance to “really explore the city” on foot. Well, after nine plus months of this experiment and with the aid of this blogger’s microscope –I would have to say that the jury is still out on the opportunity costs – the measurement of the relative wins versus losses - associated with our lives as pedestrians.

Without a doubt, walking has at least allowed us to retain some form of fitness. Linton has done much better with respect to being active, but the walking to and from the university everyday – about 5 kms – has at least provided me with the feeling that I, too, was burning off something. In fact, I love it just for the opportunity to think about things. Perhaps I am burning off some form of mental clutter along with last night's pot roast. Indeed, many a blog entry or essay paragraph has been written in my head as I traipsed down Rathdowne Street.

Along with the fitness, the will to walk has become something of an accepted “given” every time we open the front door and this too has been a bit of a welcome revelation. Back home in Toronto, our first inclination was always to drive because it was faster and more convenient in terms of carrying or carting all of those important things we must carry or cart. In reality, when you don’t own a trunk, you can still make do, just fine. Our backpacks have become a permanent part of our wardrobe. In the past few days, I have been seen walking the streets of Carlton carrying potted herbs, groceries, scooters, a Christmas tree and an occasional kid. I like to believe that the tired arms, legs and back that exist as a result of all this slow, physical, bipedal transport is not only getting me in better shape but also somehow making me a better person in some sort of strange, personal Karma-like way. There’s got to be some pay off beyond tighter buns and a cleaner world. Doesn't there?!

The kids have also done really well with the walking. There have been very few whining moments where one has exclaimed “I wish we had a car” and indeed the six or seven rental cars we've rented for holidays have probably mitigated that somewhat. Yeah, I guess walking to Sydney wasn't really in the cards! There are still the occasional parent-assisted moments, but for the most part we walk and walk and walk wherever we need to go. We also talk while we walk and I wonder about this “found” moment in our lives as well. Can you truly have the same type of conversation with your kid while you are in the front seat and they are in the back? Is it still possible to connect in a conversation while you are fiddling with the radio, planning your route, and trying to turn left? Is the pace of driving and the life that comes with it just not that conducive to having a thoughtful conversation with your son? Linton and I have had some incredible conversations just by strolling over to the post office! The investment of time involved in walking seems to come with a most sublime bonus - the opportunity to communicate.

However, recently I have begun to notice a few ways that walking may have limited our Australian experience. We bought the boys scooters for Christmas to help in their ability to wend our way around Melbourne and while they have certainly had the desired effect, I have noticed a couple of things about them in terms of affecting our walks. For one, the boys are now often far ahead of us and thus the opportunity to talk is not as available. Secondly, the scooters actually allow the kids to go farther, faster. Now this is mostly a bonus in terms of covering ground, but it has also got me wondering if not owning a car was in fact the best way to go. How much of this great city have we missed because it was just that much too far away? Would we have ventured out more often, every weekend in fact, to see what lurked beyond the next suburb? Would the relative costs of running an old junker up and down the streets of Melbourne been outweighed by the benefits of seeing and doing more when our old legs just couldn’t bear the thought of pounding the pavement one more time? Does life with a car make that life richer or poorer, in fitness or in wealth of experience?

My theories are about to be put to the test in another way as we have finally got around to sprucing up two of our landlord’s bikes. They are nothing fancy and indeed the seat on mine is hard enough to make granite look comfy. Nonetheless, Linton and I hope to soon set out upon the bike trails of Melbourne to see what else we can see. Would we have got around to walking these same trails? Probably not. Will our Melbourne experience be changed as a result of seeing a few more sites? Maybe. Would I recommend to someone else in a similar situation to get themselves a car? Probably. And I guess, having said that, my verdict is in.

And yet maybe after having made a choice to walk this year, I shouldn’t second guess it, but rather enjoy all that we have learned as a result. The car and its accompanying lifestyle, for better or worse, await us when we get home. Perhaps, my only hope is that we might leave it in the driveway, once or twice, in honour of all that we have learned - by walking in Australia.

The Australian Enigma

2009-03-25T11:49:00.008+11:00

The other day I was thinking about what I might say when we return home and someone asks me, “So, what is Australia really like?” And I realized that in that brief, maybe awkward moment, I wasn’t really sure what I might really want to say. There are the obvious quips and quick generalizations which keep the conversations light and short but they would also betray the truth – or at least, my version of the truth that I had lived. Of course, in general the commentary will be complimentary and cordial. That is the truth. This country and its culture have fit us like a new glove, comfortable, exciting, but maybe with a slight pinch or two due to its “newness”. However, in a slightly longer, slightly more in depth conversation – say, like in a blog entry - I might be tempted to try to explain some of the more interesting, puzzling, and maybe even frustrating parts of Australian society that a “man of leisure” like myself has had the opportunity to notice as I strolled from café to library and back again. Perhaps, by laying out my muddled facts, like the dregs of a latte in my well worn coffee cup, I might see new and clearer reason for some of those things “Aussie” which continue to perplex.

I would like to begin by saying that I really know very little about this country . For some, that admission alone should give me pause before going on and revealing just how ignorant I am. On the other hand, I would also propose that the majority of us base a lot of what we believe on a few sketchy facts that represent the sum total of “jack” – in the big picture and vulgar vernacular. She looks thin, she must be obsessive. He smokes, he must be a jerk. That kid’s a brat, his parents must not care. We all do it every day. Assuming we know something about which we know nothing. However, I have lived in Australia for almost nine months, we have travelled and read extensively, the newspaper gets dissected daily, the news comes into our home nightly, we can begin to count some Australians as friends…I think we are at least allowed and maybe even qualified to have an opinion about the country and its citizens. It is an outsider’s opinion granted, which, for many reasons may be totally irrelevant or perhaps, the most relevant of all. So, if I am in fact asked the question, “What are Australians really like? What will I say…

Let me begin by saying that I have found parts of Australian society quite conflicted. By that I mean that there seems to be so much and so many in this country that stand in direct counterpoint to another. Let me start with attitudes toward Britain. There is an obvious love-hate conversation going on here. The Governor-General seems to be an office that is given great regard and is currently held by a bit of a stuffy, older white woman. Fine. Yet, there is also a fairly serious conversation going on about Australia doing away with its ties to England and truly going it alone as a republic. In general, history has imbued this country with colonial ties in language, government, food, what side of the road to drive on, etc. and yet to listen to the average Aussie, anything to do with “the Poms” is to be ridiculed and beaten like a medal count at the Olympics. But to say the same kind of thing about "their princess" Mary, a commoner from Tassie who married into the Danish throne, would probably not be "cricket". I say, if you truly want to get rid of something like the monarchy, you should do what we do in Canada and simply ignore it altogether. And while on the topic of government, I do find it quite “cool”, in a slightly teeny-bopper way, that the current Minister of the Environment is the former lead singer of Midnight Oil. Now, if we could just get Gord Downie to run for office back home.

And then there’s the fashion. Apparently, Australia has some of the most sought after clothes designers in the world – Wayne Cooper is huge - practically forcing fashionistas like Paris Hilton to travel all the way to Melbourne just to buy a dress or ten. And yet, whilst walking down Swanston Street, I have never seen more strangely dressed people in my life. I know, I am mostly referring to the under 30 set here and in great danger of sounding as out of step as I think they are; however, the style is a sort of grungy Goodwill meets faded surf shop for the guys and a Barbie meets tacky vintage lingerie store for the girls. And make sure it’s tight! I exaggerate to a point, but there is still nothing remotely good looking about 4 piercings, 5 tattoos, greasy hair cut and gelled to look like an electrified mop top, skin tight black jeans, a fading Billabong singlet and a pair of $5 thongs. On the arm of this GQ wannabe are often women with a similar number of tatts, some bizarre form of restrictive leather footwear travelling halfway up their leg, in a pouffy dress that might just cover the fact that they are wearing underwear while pushing up and out all or what little bust there is making sure that the brightly coloured bra straps are defiantly displayed. Did I mention that both of these paragons of appearance often accentuate their distinctive look with a well-placed ciggy and a can of Jack Daniels? I create a caricature of the extremes but not by much on some Saturday night tram rides.

Which brings me to another area of complete mystification - the Australian attitude toward drinking. It’s an area where I wonder if they are willfully trying not to connect the dots. The legal age to buy alcohol is 18 though there is seemingly nothing wrong with younger people drinking – in the park, on the train, on the street. While they’re at it graffiti, bar brawls, and general hooliganism seems also to be a requirement. A recent statistic in the paper announced that Australian kids are drinking 8 more litres per year per kid of coolers, (they call them alco-pops – no wonder!) than the next closest country, England. This would also put them at 12 more litres per year than Canadian kids. There are huge issues in the club areas of Melbourne with the clubs and drunken violence. There is a sense of entitlement surrounding high school kids and their breaks where the media-fuelled expectation is that the kids just need to blow off a little steam. Behaving like a “bogan”, “hoon” or “larrikin” is almost a condoned rite of passage. Public service ads in the media are some of the hardest hitting I have ever seen and but to little effect. There is a bottle shop in every pub and on every block – so alcohol can be more convenient. The pro sports teams and their athletes condone a lifestyle of play hard, party hard – so alcohol is more popular. I had no idea that cricketers were the life of the party. Not a week goes by where there isn’t another high profile athlete getting in a brawl, crashing a car, or doing something ridiculous after a few cocktails. Perhaps because the mainstream media is our main source of information and it tends to focus only on the negative angle, we are immune from hearing another side of the debate and yet, in my view, they are just paying cheap lip service to the issue and its increasingly ill effects will never go away in the land of “No worries” until alcohol is seen to be a privilege for adults and not a right for any and all who’ve had a hard day or just passed grade 12.

I have the same opinion about the popularity of sports betting here. Maybe I am willfully naïve to the amount Canadians drop at the casino, on Pro Line or around the poker table on a Saturday night; but again, I see Australia trying to be all things to all people and doing neither well. We will endorse gaming and betting and casinos, inheriting the inevitable crime that comes along with that, and then we will wring our hands when families are destroyed by gambling addictions. Hopefully a few billboards and PSAs on TV will convince the masses to do the right thing. Unfortunately, like Ontario, once the government gets hooked up to this seemingly endless supply of funds, can you ever pull the plug? Better to just stop being so uptight, let the people govern themselves, and pay the addicted gamblers back with a better road to drive home on, right?

Indeed, there seems to be a deeply entrenched concern for retaining an Australian’s freedom to be themselves - individuals choosing to live well and prosper with the land – strong and independent all the way. I think they model themselves more after the Americans in this way. However, as in the states, this attitude does not easily lend itself to developing a few more caring and egads(!) socialist policies. Abortion laws are years behind Canada while paid maternity leave is something they are just starting to consider. They say no to nuclear power but are willing to sell all of their uranium to the Chinese. They are a nation of 22 million and yet they have the 10th largest military in the world! They have lost 10 soldiers in Afghanistan to our 110. They are in a 12 year period of drought with some of the most sun days of anywhere in the world, and yet the government is having trouble creating any comprehensible incentive plan for people to convert to solar power. The area, as we have so tragically seen, is prone to bushfires and yet people are allowed to build and live in homes without any insurance! The reservoirs are at 30% capacity and yet no one wants to take on the responsibility of paying for alternatives like a desalination plant. There is this frustrating dichotomy of life views “down under” that has created some bizarre and untenable extremes. While the media chases champion surfers at Bondi under the shadow of the Opera House – drunk kids fight outside strip clubs fuelled by designer drinks made by the companies their heroes play for. Can Australians have it both ways?

Please don’t get me wrong. Coming from a Canadian society that seemed to make me tense just walking out the door, Melbourne is a breath of fresh air. There is none of the keeping-up-with-the-Joneses feel to living where we do and I think it continues to get easier to meet people and talk to people than in Canada – though maybe that’s because we are the foreigners with the strange accent. Or maybe it just feels more relaxed because we are. Whatever the reason, it remains an interesting study in societies when you are allowed to compare the two. If anything, I might even chock it all up to the differences between our geography and climate. Thus, even if we or they wanted to adopt some of each other’s attitudes or mores, the weather or land might somehow have something to say about it. I can imagine how hard it might be to utter “no worries, mate” when it’s dark and 20 below in the middle of February. In light of all of this, Canada becomes an enigma as well. No more perfect or balanced about many of the same issues. I guess what is really frustrating for this cold Canadian, so ready to embrace a new, better and warmer culture is that when the sun, sand, and water are so perfect all the time – one wonders naively why the people part can’t be as well.

Expanding our Horizons in a Digital Age

2009-03-23T10:47:00.004+11:00

One of my courses this semester is all about using the web and IT in order to better teach to a new age of student. It is fascinating stuff and really challenging me to re-consider everything I do in and out of the classroom in terms of connecting to the kids in a way that is all about “learning to learn” instead of being “programmed to learn”. This is the stuff that I really want and need in order to move my own pedagogical practices forward and yet, the more I get into it, the more I realize that in terms of real computer savvy, I have already been left far, far behind.

One of the articles I am reading talks about the new “informational economy” as being “divided between people who are valuable to the network and people who are not” and where “innovation and flexibility are seen as key to productiveness and competitiveness – valuable people are, as the author argues, “Self-programmable labour…who have learnt how to learn, and are able to continue learning and adapting throughout their careers”. There is much here that I have already seen and appreciate in terms of which way the world is heading, both for my own career as well as the lives of my students, and I ignore this trend at the peril of soon being unable to speak the same language as the people with whom I share the classroom.

Another article described life in the 21st century as it relates to IT this way: some of us exist as natives in the world of computers and the internet while the rest are immigrants. The natives, like Colin and Alex, are born into the world and know nothing else. The use of computers is like breathing, natural and with no thought to the other options – like, not breathing. For the immigrants, we know another world - the world before computers, where we relied upon different approaches and techniques to learning, sharing information, etc. And while we may know, embrace and function effectively in the world of computers, we will never be able to see or breathe as “naturally” as the native. Seen from the perspective of learning a second language versus being raised as a native speaker, the analogy seems to fit very well.

And so, as an immigrant to the land of IT, though now wanting to know more all the time, I am faced with the daunting challenge of trying to re-program much in the way that I teach and have held so previously in high regard in terms of effective practice. It is very tough slogging because it forces one to reject much of the bedrock stuff that defined your personal and professional philosophies in favour of something that you haven’t seen or experienced in action. To continue with my own analogy, I am trying to learn how to breathe another way.

Personally, with respect to our approach to parenting – for some a topic more taboo than sex or income – we have struggled with respect to “electronics” in trying to find a balance with the boys that acknowledges and respects their rights and interests while at the same time limiting what they see or play and how long they do it. It is a constant battle for control with the computer itself never offering any advice of its own. A mere innocent in the whole transactional debate, the laptop and internet simply wait and wait, knowing one of us or maybe all of us will crack - scurrying for control of the mouse and uttering some pathetic defence like “I just want to check my email!” or “I just need to win this level!” We’re all addicted to a certain degree.

Then there is all of the current “literature” around the issue of whether or not the use of the internet and computers is harming our ability to read, write and for all intents and purposes, think. In Australia anyway, you can’t go a couple of days without reading some “expert’s” op-ed hand wringing about how the youth of today are being “dumbed down” by their obsessive and unrestricted use of the world wide web. I do not necessarily disagree. Yet, there are many others who argue that we are reading more than any generation prior thanks to the web and the ability to be exposed to more ideas and writing and to view it all with a more critical eye has only been enhanced by our time online.

All of which forces me to reflect further on the value of traveling abroad with children. Lint and I often try to imagine what all of this travel will leave etched in the minds of our kids. Anything? The right things? Will there be things that they have learned through this experience that they might not have gained simply by “logging on” back home in TO? It’s hard to say. What do any of us remember about being six or nine? And, given the trend, is this experiential attitude the right one to try to foster when all around us the world seems to be satisfying itself by staying at home and dialing up their own reality online. Actually, I know the answer – at least, the right one for us. But just like the theory around the natives and the immigrants, is our need to see the world more a legacy of an “immigrant” generation? Are the natives really restless? Or is this digital age simply a safer way to know less about more without ever leaving the warm, comforting glow of your monitor? At the very least, I hope our guys are being shown at least one more way, though perhaps old-fashioned, of learning to learn.

Tasmania Day 4 - Hobart and then Home

2009-03-22T17:13:00.024+11:00

Hobart is a very pretty city that feels a bit like Halifax or a much smaller Sydney - and with a ton of history around every corner. We stayed at the Grand Chancellor hotel across from the main harbour and the view across the harbour and out toward the ocean was spectacular. In fact, while admiring said view, I happened to notice a big, black brutish looking boat and wondered...could it be? Sure enough the one, the only Sea Shepherd (aka Steve Irwin) was docked right in front of us, fresh from ramming Japanese whaling boats. It was great to get a look at this infamous boat in the somewhat rusted out flesh. Whether or not you agree with their tactics or politics, seeing the boat up close impressed upon me the courage and conviction of the people who would willingly drive their relatively small boat into another much larger one in the Antarctic sea. The gouges in the side of the boat told the violent tale. They were in Hobart to raise money for supplies and to find a shipyard to repair the hull. We really wanted to take a tour of the ship, but it didn't work out. Still, this was a great teachable moment with the kids.

When we arrived in Hobart, the only thing we really had on the agenda was a decent seafood meal and we found one at the Drunken Admiral right across the street from our hotel. The awesome decor is intended to feel like below decks on a 19th century schooner and the food was fantastic. As the boys checked out the great surroundings, Lint loved her hot rock salmon with a glass of Tasmanian pinot grigio and I managed to scarf down the biggest bucket of mussels I had ever seen with a local beer Boags, St. George. My only complaint was that there was not enough bread for dipping! We rolled out of there content to start the real touring in the morning.

Hobart is known for its Saturday morning market in an area known as Salamanca, and after a decent brunchy breakfast on the pier and a quick swim in the pool, we checked out and drove ourselves down to the market. Though it wasn't Saturday there was still lots to see and buy and while wandering around, we managed to load up on books, beer coolers and some killer coffee. A little more walking and we found oursleves in a place called Battery Park, where cannons used to defend the port. Today the cannons have been replaced by a lovely park with a really cool climber shaped like a sailboat. It reminded us, yet again, that a) Australia has the best parks and b) in the midst of all the great sightseeing, kids still need to have a good ol' play. We practically had to drag them off the thing.

With a couple more hours before we needed to get to the airport, we decided to head back to the car and then drive to the top of Mount Wellington which towers over Hobart offering unforgettable views. On the way up there were several hairpin turns and moments of playing chicken with the cars coming down the mountain - as no one wanted to go too close to their side of the road. I will admit to having a tighter than normal grip on the wheel as this was definitely as high as I have ever driven in a car. By the time we got to the top we were 1.3 kms above sea level!

Everywhere you looked you could see for miles and miles and vertigo, for some of us, was definitely on the menu. The kids frolicked like they were on the beach and not in the clouds and we marvelled at just how high we were. There were comparisons to the CN Tower or the top of Whistler but this was more like airplane height. The camera was firing everywhere as Linton and I wrestled it from each other trying to get the best shot. I'm not sure the pics do it justice but this might have been the single most impressive sight of our trip so far. After another white kuckle ride and few more games of chicken, we were safely back at the bottom and from there we whisked our way out to the airport to catch Virgin Blue, flight number 327 back "home" to Melbourne.

In just four and a bit days we had seen so much of a place that we never thought we would get to - and it had been incredible. Tasmania was yet another reminder of the powerful mantra that has been so much a part of our year - no regrets. Thus, my only regret about this trip is that we had not taken it sooner.

Tasmania Day 3 - Wineglass Bay to Hobart

2009-03-18T21:53:00.025+11:00

Maybe the place we had been told to check out "whilst" in Tasmania (Australians use whilst a lot) was Wineglass Bay in the Freycinet National Park. About 45 minutes south of Bicheno, near Coles Bay, Freycinet is another mecca for hikers of all ages and abilities. That was good for us - because though we were all keen, the wheels could come off for any one of us at any given moment. We were getting into the hiking as a family, but one always needs to gauge the route selection with time of day, food in the belly, food in the pack, and just what you could deliver along the way in terms of highlights. Fortunately, we got some very useful ranger help at the visitors centre, (along with a fetching bucket hat for Col) and decided to do a 3km hike up to a lookout. Depending on how that went, we would then decide to hike down to the beach at Wine glass Bay. All things were dependent upon the boys, but both were in good form and keen for the adventure - in the parking lot, anyway.

The path itself was smooth, but the grade was steep enough and very quickly we realized that we would be climbing up and over a significant hill/mountain. After about 20 minutes of walking/climbing we rested and looked back over the parking lot and Coles Bay. The view was already amazing and it would have been okay to turn around right there. But there was the lookout above us and the boys were psyched - so up we went. Ten more minutes of significant work and we were at the lookout which offered an incredible view of the bay on the other side of the ridge. The lookout was quite busy and it was hard to commune with the vista while having to sidestep a dozen or so other people there for their own photo op. However, we were also hungry so we tucked into part of our lunch away from the madding crowd.

Again, we had the chance to call it a day right then and there but the beach was beckoning and the fact that at least for awhile we would be working with gravity was a serious selling point. Though there wasn't much selling. Soon all four us were scrambling our way down a steep but well worn rocky track while I entertained nightmares of having to do it in reverse with Allie on my back. The less than enthusiastic hello grunts of the sweaty people we passed on their way up didn't help in that regard.

25 minutes later and we were digging our toes into another of this country's most spectacular beaches. The great thing about this one was the fact that we had, in effect, worked to get here. It was pristine and gorgeous without a parking lot or a row of tacky surf shops to be seen and I loved the fact that the boys were now at an age to make this kind of discovery possible. We spent most of an hour lunching and playing in the sand with an extra little excursion to explore the rocky shoreline. Then, just as we were turning for home, someone on the beach noticed a gaggle, pack, or school of dolphins swimming off shore. They surfaced a few times as we madly tried to take a photo but then they were gone and we left resigned to this memory being stored simply, as a memory.

The trek back up was in fact, pure joy. Once the hill began to get a little steeper, I engaged Allie in a running series of non-sensical knock knock jokes that propelled us back up and over the offending ridge in record time, with nary a piggy back or a shoulder ride to be seen. Both boys were heroic and I think genuinely proud that they had knocked this "bad boy" off. Only one minor wipe out marred the rest of our return to the car and as I signed out of the day walk book, I noticed we were only 20 minutes beyond the return time I had guessed at on the way up. Given all of the potential for an abridged or longer hike, the fact that we were all safely back at the car within a reasonable timeframe made me feel like we almost knew what we were doing. Such satisfaction immediately bred thoughts of future hikes and canoe trips as a family. I truly hope so. And with that we tumbled into the car and headed for Hobart, two twisty but spectacular hours of driving away. This place, this Tasmania, continues to offer us the new and the spectacular, day after amazing day!

PS - While we were in Tasmania, there was a minor earthquake (4.6) 200 kms outside of Melbourne that rattled windows a bit. We were in Taz and didn't feel it. Then yesterday while we were sitting at home, Linton and Colin said they thought they had felt the house shaking a bit and sure enough we heard on the news that there had been another tremor (4.5) or what they are calling an aftershock. Given the fact that they have not had one, let alone two, tremors of this size in more than thirty years and combined with the record heat, bushfires and the record amount of rain last August, we are starting to feel like we've jinxed the place! Never a dull weather moment in the land of Oz!

Tasmania Day 2 - Launceston to Bicheno

2009-03-14T22:46:00.027+11:00

Launceston is like Barrie, only nicer and and with hills. Situated at the end of a very long fjord-like river emptying into the Bass Strait, the city is set on rolling hills and is second only to Hobart in size. Walking the streets last night looking for good Chinese food, which we found, I was again impressed with the way Australia's smaller cities and towns are so clean, vibrant, and seemingly "economic-downturn" free. This was a place to raise your kids, walk to the corner store, wave at your neighbour and feel as if everything was indeed right in the world.

Our second day's agenda had not really materialized by the time we had checked out, but Linton had read about a "gorge" kind of place in the middle of town with a chairlift and a cafe - enough said! Upon arrival we were stunned by the sudden beauty. Tucked at the end of a non-descript street the Launceston gorge is a bizarre but wonderful combination of touristy kitsche and outdoor activity. A suspension bridge, chairlift, walking trails, lake, swimming pool and cafe combine together to make a perfect place to spend a few hours outdoors with kids.

After some thick toast and cocoa puffs, we boarded the very rickety and very high chairlift and began to creep our way across the gorge. This thing claims to have the longest single span of any chairlift in the world - I might add the longest and the scariest. As the chairlift was almost 40 years old, I was sure we were only one or two revolutions away from plummeting onto the rocks below - especially as we passed some very large bikers in the chairs heading the other way.

Safely on the other side, we visited with a few resident wallabies and skinks while negotiating which paths to partake in. After a wonderful lookout and a wobbly walk across a suspension bridge, we waved goodbye to the gorge and Launceston and set our sights on Bicheno and Wineglass Bay about a two hour drive away. Once again we patted ourselves and the kids on the back for finding and enjoying a natural, outdoor activity. That may sound a bit weird, but we continue to be pleased with the way the kids have embraced our travels and have found fun away from the usual distractions. It is always more interesting and exciting when you feel like they are running with you versus being dragged.

After a very rare wrong turn which found us having lunch in a playground in a place called Swansea, we picked up a few groceries and headed north to Bicheno and our lodgings for the night. As luck would have it, the more campier retreat we thought we were staying in, turned out to be a much nicer resort with just maybe the best view of any place we had yet stayed in Australia. It was high fives all around as we soaked up the view, the pool, the table tennis room and an incredible beach, complete with its very own penguin tour.

Not content to simply soak up the great spot however, we drove back into town to check out the local blow hole which turned out to be a fabulous decision. This thing was amazing. Huge swells would pound into the shoreline, travelling down a narrow chute in the rock, and then explode out the end. You could walk right up to it and be drenched by the towering spray. We weren't quite that bold - something to do with dad's vice-like grip on their arms - but the kids had fun running away from the water as it raced back into the sea. This was nature teaching them how amazing it could be and truly one of my favourite Australian family moments so far.

The night was stunning and we took turns back at the resort wandering the fenceline by the beach under a gorgeous full moon looking and listening for the little penguins making their nightly return from a day's fishing. There we were, on the very eastern edge of Tasmania, a long, long way from home - maybe the furthest away yet - but the beauty of the place and the quality of the day sent us all to bed with the sense that this life, right now, was very, very good.

Tasmania Day 1 - Melbourne to Launceston

2009-03-09T22:35:00.018+11:00

Fresh from a night where dad and Colin attended a way cool Coldplay concert while Allie and mom had their very own movie night, Thursday saw our busy family stuffed into a taxi and on the way down to Station Pier eager to set sail for Tasmania! A late addition to our Australian travel itineray, we had booked ourselves a four day "holiday" that coincided with Australia's Labour Day weekend. We were all quite excited by the prospects for this trip as Tasmania seemed to represent the far off, the exotic and the unknown. We would not be disappointed!

Boarding the Spirit of Tasmania, the boys were giddy with excitement. Admittedly, I too, was giddy but more perhaps with trepidation. I wondered if my sea legs would hold up under 3-5 metre swells and if the good ol' ferry itself might have just one more journey in her across the notoriously nasty Bass Strait. The total distance is about 460 kms and takes about 11 hours from Melbourne to Devonport on the north coast of Tasmania. The Spirit is quite a large ship and is capable of carrying several hundred cars and 1400 passengers with a majority in cabins. The boat is very well appointed with a casino, gift shop, two restaurants and two bars and while at sea we ate dinner, enjoyed the arcade and watched High School Musical 3 - woohoo! It was a perfect mix of activity for the kids and as the boat began to bounce we were all comfortably tucked into our bunks - excited to be sailing the ocean blue and relieved that Troy and Gabriela were reunited for prom!

Apparently we didn't sink during the night because as the sun broke over the horizon we were steaming into Devonport. Though not as bad as sleeping on the Ghan, the boys were again the winners in terms of good versus bad sleeps. Linton and I shared a collective group of ailments including insomnia, sore backs, temperature issues, etc. Or maybe we're just getting old. Regardless, we were keen to extricate ourselves from a cabin and grab a breath of fresh, albeit Tasmanian, air.

Once we had successfully failed the sniffer dog test - he managed to nail for us for apples and croissant residue(!) - we collected our stylish Ford Falcon and headed where else but McDonalds. Keen for a second cup of joe and maybe, just maybe, an egg McMuffin, we gathered our thoughts and still wobbly sea legs to come up with the day's plan. The weather was gorgeous and with that as our guide we turned toward Cradle Mountain National Park and the prospect of seeing one of Australia's few Unesco World Heritage sights.

One thing we were to quickly appreciate about Tassie is that it is a land of hills, vales, and mountains and the roads are all of the twisty variety. We had crossed over with a large number of bikers and once on the highways we could see why - the driving is unbelievable. If you were on a motorcycle, or in a fast car, or without a little guy in the back who is prone to twisty-road-induced nausea, you would have the drive of your life down here. It go so that my brake foot was cramping and I was longing for a straightaway of more than a few hundred metres!

Once in the Cradle Mountain National Park we did a few shorter walks and checked out the visitors centre. Tasmania is a place for hikers and they do a very good job of creating a variety of hikes for all ages and abilities. The boys seemed to love the outdoor activity and there were very few moments where a piggyback was required. We then drove a few more kilometres into the park to have a look at the actual Cradle Mountain so named for the rounded shape created by the two peaks. Snow blanketed the very topmost parts of the mountain and a cool wind kept us in fleeces and pants. The air, light and colours gave us the sense of a cool Canadian fall day and made the land far more familiar than many parts of Oz.

With Launceston, our eventual destination, a few more hours away we drove down the mountain and out of the park with rosy cheeks and happy to have made this diversion. Tasmania, as we were quickly discovering, is a land of unique and remarkable natural beauty and though it might take a few extra twists and turns to get there, it was already proving to be well worth the effort.

March 1 - Around the Bay in a Couple o' Days!

2009-03-01T21:42:00.021+11:00

With the Wilson's Prom fire officially putting the kybosh on our much-anticipated camping trip, we pointed our rented, but luxuriously appointed Hyundai Elantra, south toward Geelong. With a promise to be kept to the boys - something about a waterpark - we decided to take the weekend to drive all the way around Port Phillip Bay, a round trip of approximately 250kms. Along the way the plan was to stay in Point Lonsdale at the very tip of the narrows into Bass Strait and to visit as many scenic, quaint, and cool places we could fit into about 36 hours of travel. It was a great weekend.

The city of Melbourne is situated at the very north end of Port Phillip Bay and is in effect not really "on" the ocean - at least, not the big, bad, deep and wavy kind of ocean. But for a very small opening in the southernmost part of the bay, this enormous body of water is more like a large lake - almost 2000 square kilometres large! Surprisingly though, despite its size, the bay averages a depth of only 8 metres! The 'back beaches" in the bay are calm and plentiful and we had already spent Christmas Eve day on a beach on the eastern shores in an area known as Mornington Peninsula. For this trip we would start on the western shore and the Bellarine Peninsula with a much anticipated ferry ride over to the eastern side and then home. But first, to Australia's first dedicated water park - or some similar claim like that.

The small irony of this day was the fact that after dreaming of this park for weeks on end as we sweltered through January and February, the temperature on the day was down right chilly! It almost rained, even! Though not the best water park we had ever set our suits on, that was lost on the boys and the sound of their laughter and screams was worth the price of admission. We did it all, slides, rivers, buckets, and tubes, including mom and dad, and were thankful that the cooler temps were probably keeping a few thousand people away. We more or less had the place to oursleves which forced us to play not one, but two rounds of mini-golf! The horror! After a few flips and flops on an enormous jumping pillow we loaded up and headed out for our accommodation at the Pt. Lonsdale Guest House.

I feel like we have already seen a lot of Australia's glorious coastline, but it never fails to impress me when we roll into another seaside hamlet nestled into the rock and scrub. Somewhat off the beaten path, Pt. Lonsdale is a sleepy but awakening little gem of a place that has all of the requirements retiring boomers and well-to-do Melburnians need in a vacation home. From historic lighthouse to expensive eateries, this was Lorne-redux, but without the cavalcade of tour buses beating you to your favourite table. I loved it and found myself slowing down at the real estate office to play my favourite game of "what if".

After checking into our room, which for all of our desperate last-minute booking, was a perfectly acceptable steal, we headed down to the main drag to rustle up a bit of tucker. Settling on Italian, we more or less opened the place, but it wasn't long before we met someone we knew! Unbelievable. In walked a family, from the boys' school, that we knew had a place in Pt. Lonsdale but with whom we had made no plans to meet up. So we all sat down to a fun meal, full of laughter and talk and pizza. We were then very kindly invited back to their place for a little more play and a night cap. If you ever needed an experience to make you feel "normal" or comfortable living away from home, a chance meeting of a friendly familiar face in a far off place, might just do the trick. The boys had a great time destroying the place with their three kids and we left somewhat guilty at the mess.

Next morning, after being awoken far too early by the screams and laughter of the kids staying in the room below us, Colin and I hit the local IGA for provisions and the requisite skinny latte and long black. After a quick pack and a promised table tennis game, we decided to check out and then check out the local lighthouse and accompanying jetty. Point Lonsdale, and its across-the-bay neighbour Sorrento, have made a name for themselves over the years for saving many souls destined for Davy Jones' locker. The lighthouse continues to be an important marker for ocean liners coming into the bay, though a special pilot must board all boats coming in and leaving in order to navigate through the tricky series of rip currents, shoals and markers.

Wanting to get the ferry at a reasonable hour, we headed for the very trendy Queenscliff and the ferry docks. As luck would have it we had five minutes to spare and caught the 11:00 am - I think we were the second last car on. The trip is about 40 minutes and we enjoyed roaming around the ship and thinking about the fact that our car was "floating" across the water. After docking in Sorrento we headed out to Portsea and the very western end of the Mornington Peninsula where a long walk on the beach revealed a very cool rock outcropping. In need of some grub of the pub variety, we wandered back into Sorrento for a long lunch and a little shopping. I was in a state of mourning as I had just "blown out' my long-serving flip-flops, but after a little retail therapy in a local surf store I was feeling much better, thank you. This area of Australia is quite well-to-do and has a Nantucket or even Bermuda feel to it with huge mansions overlooking moored yachts and secluded beaches. As we pointed the Elantra north towards Melbourne, we confidently ticked Sorrento off as another place we would happily live, if we had a few extra mill...

But this holiday weekend was not over yet! Delivering on yet another lost promise, we climbed our way up to Arthur's Seat and a pretty cool maze-garden-park-playground sort of thing. As with so much of what we have seen and done, we continue to explore the country through the kids and their sense of curiosity and wonder. Though not directed at the same things we might find interesting, I continue to feel that we are sowing seeds here and Linton and I are simply along for the ride. If that means a few waterparks and cheesy maize mazes on the way - so be it. Having said that, it was completely my desire to drag us back to the bay for our last stop on the tour. Having noticed it on a map, I was intrigued to check out a beach called Canadian Bay and at least take a picture. Sadly, it was a major disappointment with only a dilapidated sailing club and an uninspring stretch of sand. More Scarborough Bluffs than Martha's Vineyard...or was I just becoming blase? I guess it can't all be life-altering.

Climbing back in the car we all agreed that this had been a great mini-trip. And it was. And I need to continue to remember that. Whether we are in a chilly waterpark, a noisy inn, a tired corn maze, or a boring beach - I cannot take a minute of this for granted. Nor should I always filter it through older, wiser?, adult eyes. It's all new and different through the eyes of the child and I shouldn't impose my expectations - complete with cost and convenience evaluation attached. We need to keep this world as big and as awe-inspiring for our kids for as long as we possibly can - one short weekend at a time.

Feb 27 - Carpe Diem on a Budget

2009-02-27T11:41:00.005+11:00

I was never much of a backpacker. In fact, I did very little true backpacking in my youth. And the little that I did do was never for long. I remember a memorable moment in Frankfurt, Germany when a friend and I booked ourselves into a hostel for the night but after a few beers and some not-so-sober second thought we booked ourselves out of the hostel and into a four star hotel on his credit card! Yup. That was me. A real adventurer. The world was my oyster – but only if the price was right – and I didn’t have to sleep eight to a room. In this regard, Linton is a much more experienced traveler. Her stories on the “high seas” of world travel reveal a “flexibility” and spirit that I have never had. Or at least, I didn’t think I did.

One of my favourite expressions has always been carpe diem. Since my high school days when I used it in a valedictory address, on through Dead Poets Society when Robin Williams etched it permanently into my psyche as the oh-so-ever-inspiring Mr. Keating. The beauty of the sentiment captured in those two words – challenging us all to make the most of our lives – is a mantra I do at times fail to live, but know I never really will forget. I’m not sure why I am so keen on it. Is it because I know that without this type of subtle verbal nudge, my somewhat docile natural state might slip into a form of permanent hibernation? Or maybe, in light of my indifferent, quasi-agnostic attitude toward religion, it supplies me with a direction that the good book fails to point out. Or, perhaps the English teacher in me, the one that likes to give life a good long hard look, is attracted to this term because so much of literature is littered with heroes and villains who were trying to do just that – seize the day. I don’t know. But I do know it’s hard to argue against it.

I also know it’s why I am so proud of this life adventure that the four of us continue to experience. We have, in effect, seized about 400 odd days and chosen to do something that I feel could have just as easily drifted by as another of life’s “wish list” items, sadly unrealized. I’m still not entirely sure why we’re here. What I mean is, why we went to all that trouble to completely turn our lives upside down, just to travel a long way from home. In retrospect and in terms of a comparable expenditure, we could have simply reno’ed the entire house or put a down payment on a piece of vacation property. But we didn’t. Instead, we packed up our lives and flew away – for a little study, a spot of rest, a lot of travel and a pinch of perspective.

Since arriving we have continued to apply this mindset to our exploration of the country and new experiences. When an opportunity has presented itself we have, I believe in every instance, jumped at the chance to see or do it. As a result we have already seen so much of the country – more than many Australians - who have told us as much. Whether in Toronto or Melbourne, we have never been all that comfortable just hanging out at home and that prospect quickly becomes even less palatable when we remind ourselves of just what home we’re hanging in and the endless opportunities lying just off the front stoop. And to date, the carpe diem spirit has worked wonderfully. Though the recent bushfires squashed our plans to camp in a gorgeous national park this weekend, we were not deterred. Not wanting to “lose” the weekend entirely, we booked ourselves into a hotel in Point Lonsdale and so we’re off to Geelong and a drive around Port Phillip Bay.

The thinking is certainly a luxury. Carpe Diem, while suggesting the pursuit of the possibilities life holds, can also seem to ignore its realities. And it is now being seriously challenged as time and money become more of a factor. They are both things we are running out of. And yet, what continues to reverberate in our heads and against our wallets is that, more than likely, we will never be back here again. So while not wanting to be foolish with our finances, we continue to plan in favour of the opportunity. Such is the reason that we are also departing on a four day tour of Tasmania next week. No, it doesn’t fit the budget. Yes, it might mean the last couple of months see fewer treats and fridge magnets. And though perceived regret might not be the best reason to do something illogical, we had to ask ourselves a question that was no less relevant today as it was last September – when will we ever be in a position to do this again? With our kids? In that context, carpe diem will continue to shine ever so brightly, helping us to bank a different kind of wealth.

Feb 22 - My growing admiration for Australian pride

2009-02-22T13:14:00.012+11:00

I used to think I knew what it meant to be a proud Canadian. No, I mean, what it really meant. Beyond the usual platitudes to the maple leaf, hockey, peacekeeping, and the odd beaver - I really thought I knew in my heart what most frequently swelled my pride in the "true north strong and free". However, after eight plus months in Australia and with fresh insight from the Victorian bushfire tragedy, I continue to build a better appreciation for what makes this land "down under" unique and worthy of so much Australian pride. And, like all good travel does, I am now questioning my own experience. Do I really know what it means to be a proud Canadian?

It's definitely a question fraught with peril. We often seem to feel strangely comforted by the somewhat unsatisfying conclusion that to be a true Canadian, one must always worry about what it means to be true a Canadian! Indeed, my first few attempts at crafting my own distinct definition fails to offer anything remotely satisfying or more enlightening. Canadians are peace loving - yes, for the most part - though our ongoing participation in Afghanistan could call that into question for some. We are a culture or community that opens its arms to all citizens of the world - yes, that I think we do better than most, but the sad state of our own aborginal nations is a definite black mark on that reputation. We are a nation defined by our land and its vastness - yes...but that's a point where I think I begin to have a bit more trouble. True - we have incredible resources, but they are no more "mine" or appreciated by me than they are by a tourist from Germany and I would bet that many tourists from Germany have seen more of our country than the average Canadian! I think we like to think we have land, fresh water, access to oceans and a few mountains for skiing and photo ops - but I am not sure we, as a nation, define ourselves through our geography, say the way Australians do. Unfortunately, because of our apparent wealth of natural resources, a majority of Canadians do very little to conserve or protect the riches that we do have. As long as it's not in my backyard, how much do we really care?

While I could go on to further make my case, I want to bring in Australia, our chosen "home away from home" for one year, to try to explain the difference I have begun to appreciate in how Australian's see themselves and their place in the world - relative to my own sense of my "Canadianness". All of this navel-gazing, I must admit, comes after sniffling my way through a very emotional national day of mourning ceremony for the bushfire victims. If ever there is a time to see a nation at its best, one need only to watch as it tries to deal with its worst. To this end, Australians have rallied behind their fellow citizens incredibly. The tasteful and moving ceremony, though perhaps in danger of becoming maudlin or even political, struck all the right chords - and I think it did partly because there is much in this country that unites people.

If it's not a natural disaster - it's a national success story' like the Beijing Olympics. If it's not the failing economy it's the fragile environment. If it's not a venomous animal it's famous sports hero. Regardless of the cause or concern, Australians' emotions seem to ebb and flow as one. In almost mythical proportion, everyone shares a firm belief in their can-do spirit, pioneering courage and resolve, and the immutable desire to define who they are by how well they have managed to craft life out of such a challenging environment. Life in Australia can be hard wherever you go and I think, in their minds, there have been no great superpowers at their southern border helping to make this good life possible. They are, quite literally, an island unto themselves, but with aspirations and the availablity of resources to be great; on their own terms. And though they and many others would admit it hasn't been a perfect run, the sense of commonality surrounding their past and collective destiny is quite inspring.

When I think back to Canada and all that I know and love about it - this commonality seems to be missing - at least, to the same degree. Whether its the states, Quebec or even Ontario the common and unfortunate cliche is that we are often defined by what or who we are not - rather than who we are. We are a nation of such far off and divergent regions - each dealing with its own great struggles - that we seem to care little for the other guys' problems down the highway. Without any great wars or signifcant crises uniquely our own we have continued to "buy" our nationhood through our exploits on foreign shores or in other arenas. There has been no great oppressor we all had to beat back and so we fight over the easy spoils like unruly school kids, each thinking we are more entitled than the next guy. I think that's why I'm not much for Stephen Harper. His political roots are regionally motivated and it seems to me that he's taking his turn as leader more as an act of revenge than any great desire to build a great nation. The Harper/Flaherty mini-budget fiasco before Christmas is a perfect case in point. I'm sorry to again get political.

But back to the ceremony. Held in the Rod Laver arena, there were the requisite dignitaries, speeches and musical tributes - all of which were necessary and tasteful. Interestingly, one of the songs was a beautiful choral arrangement of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". They love him down here and again, I wonder if this adoptive home has more to teach me about my homeland. And yet, in all of the pomp and protocol there also remained a strong sense of what makes Australia unique beyond its history and heritage. For example, they played the national anthem, of course, but there was also a very moving performance of a song called "I am Australian". It was perfect for the occasion - moving, but at the same time inspring everyone to rebuild and rally around each other. I couldn't help to think what song Canadians might sing in a similar circumstance - Farewell to Nova Scotia? Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald? Sudbury Saturday Night? I can only hope that in 2010 Vancouver's Olympic organizers find a way of singing our praises that stretches far beyond Avril Lavigne, David Foster, or "Canada, We Love You".

And so while I shed a tear or two as I watched this nation in mourning, I also wonder if I wasn't a little sad that we Canadians don't spend a little more time finding and celebrating the distinct stories that make us another of the truly great nations of the world. Of course, pride for one's country need not only surface in times of trouble. However, as Australians admirably rally around their flag and their nation, I am struck by the power, pride and potential captured in a moment of sharing the experience of being Australian.

Feb 18 - More on the bush fires...and some catching up

2009-02-16T20:55:00.028+11:00

The bushfires continue to capture the nation's minds and media. The death toll is now past 200 and predicted to go higher. The fundraising appeal has already topped $100 million. An arsonist has been arrested and charged with lighting one of the fires that killed 25 people. We have been experiencing a lot of smoke in the city and the days are marked by what they call a smoke haze. All of the cars have a fine layer of ash on them and we awoke the other day with sore throats - a symptom of breathing the polluted air. The sunsets have been wild and the other day the moon was more red than white - I'm not sure the picture does it justice. To offer some perspective on the proximity of the closest fires to where we are - picture living in the Annex and having half of Caledon up in flames. That's about how far away they are, so we are feeling relatively secure with about 60 kms of concrete infrastructure between us and them. I noted there are fire crews arriving from Canada soon to aid in the fight - and that's a good thing because there are at least 8 that are still out of control.

The drama is moving in many directions at once. Currently, one of the biggest crises is the fact that several of Melbourne's freshwater reservoirs are at risk of being contaminated by the fires. Given that they are already at historical lows, 31% capacity, and this has been the driest summer on record, the authorities are suitably concerned. I'm not sure that the general citizenry as a whole is all that concerned, but the experts are saying that there are things at play with respect to Melbourne's water supply that could affect the area for the next thirty years!

Which brings me back to a conversation Linton and I were having yesterday. One of the biggest things that living in Australia has taught us is that we are "fortunate" in respect to our chosen geography back home. Though we have cold and snow and ice storms and the odd tornado or wind storm, by comparison, Toronto is a climatalogical centre of calm. Melburnians, and more specifically, people who live on the outskirts of Melbourne have just experienced horrendous bushfires, an unbearable heatwave, are in the middle of 12 years of drought, have stringent water restrictions, and the list goes on. By direct contrast, the people of Queensland and New South Wales are under water right now having received endless weeks of rain, storms and the odd cyclone. In addition, to those natural tragedies, not a week goes by without reading about shark attacks, deadly crocs, or snake bite victims. Last week, two people were attacked by sharks on Sydney beaches, a small boy was taken by a croc in Queensland, and a star athlete was in hospital with a deadly snake bite suffered his backyard. This country seems to bare its teeth every single day.

And it all seems to be happening with more frequency. That may be as a result of more people pushing into places where they didn't go before. It may also be that the world's climate is changing far more rapidly than our current lifestyle is willing to adapt. Or it just might be that even though people choose to live in challenging environments, they are not willing or don't know enough to give nature the respect it deserves. A case in point, would be the tragic story of the two brothers who climbed over a retaining rope at a glacier in New Zealand recently in order to get a better picture. They were both crushed to death when the glacier calved. Whatever is the reason or cause of all of this human tragedy, the experiences of Australians dealing with their climate and geography are teaching us about our own good fortune as well as the need to protect and conserve the resources we do have. No wonder Stephen Harper won't sign Kyoto, the nimrod has never tried to breathe in 46 degree heat! Why is it that we all fail to act until the devil is at the door?

On a happier note, a few other things have happened recently, in between the holidays and the bushfires, that missed the initial chance for a blog. Not wanting to miss the firm documentation of a single memorable Melburnian moment, herein lie a few more tasty morsels from some of our more recent adventures...

Melbourne Victory Game

A few weeks ago, Colin and I trammed our way down to the Telstra Dome - now the Docklands Stadium - to watch Melbourne's major soccer league team, the Victory, play host to the Central Coast Mariners. The dome is a fantastic and relatively new stadium with a natural turf field and retractable roof. We had great seats and watched the hosts thoroughly dominate the visitors 3-0. The whole experience had the same vibe as a Toronto FC game though perhaps a little more subdued as the 60 000 seat stadium was about one third full. The quality of soccer was excellent and Melbourne recently earned its place in the Grand Final two weeks from now. That's another distinct difference between Melbourne and Toronto is that there is always a team winning some sort of championship down here! Ouch. Anyway, a firm fourth behind Aussie rules, cricket, and rugby, soccer has a strong and loyal following and Australia is considering a serious bid for the 2018 World Cup.

Melbourne Symphony at the Sidney Meyer Bowl

Another great night out recently was the Saturday we spent at the concert bowl in Melbourne. Sponsored by one of Australia's great arts philanthropists, the free summertime concerts in the park have been a tradition for 50 years. The night's program was a series of four pieces - from Tchaikovsky to Rachmaninoff and from Mahler to Ravel. They were all chosen for their loose connection to love - it being Valentine's Day and all! We were told to arrive early and that we did getting a prime spot on the grass in the middle needing only to beat back the advances of one elderly couple to come up with it!

We were meeting up with some friends from the neighbourhood and once they arrived we settled in - serving up wine, cold steak, and other great munchies along with close to 13 000 other people! The kids did well and as long he could retreat under his sweatshirt for a little Nintendo fix from time to time, Allie was happy. It was all so civilized and free! People were allowed to bring in their own wine, as long as it could be argued that it was a "reasonable" amount, and we laughed as we watched the two "older" couples in front of us stumble through at least 4 bottles! This was a great way to expose the kids to some classical music as well as a cheap way to have a night out.

Carlton Blues Family Day

The following day we noticed a lot of cars and commotion along our street and decided to strap on our scooters and check it out. Turned out the Carlton Blues - our local AFL club - was hosting a family day at the stadium in Princes Park and 10 000 club supporters (and us) showed up for a chance to meet the players, get a few autographs and bounce in a jumping castle. Even though we would admit to being Hawthorn fans first, it was fun to soak up the vibe and enthusiasm of this oh-so-ever serious group of fanatics. Footy is a passion for most of Melbourne and big business for some of the country's richest people. We were impressed with everything about the day - except for Lint's 20 minute wait in the hot chip line!

Melbourne with mom and dad

2009-02-13T14:14:00.023+11:00

My parents, Peter and Jane, arrived in Sydney in early January ready to tackle an amazing itinerary that would take them north into Queensland, back west to Alice Springs and Uluru, south to Adelaide and then east, with us, to Melbourne. By all accounts their first three weeks were a very satisfying and successful mix of resorts and hotels with a long list of sights in between. Highlights, we were told, included Sydney, snorkelling in and a helicopter ride over the Great Barrier Reef, a visit to a working cattle station, holding a koala, a wine tour of the Barossa valley - and of course hanging out with us for 8 days! Dunh! Between dodging the snow in Vancouver, the cyclones in Queensland and the heatwaves in Melbourne - they deserve a medal just for negotiating their way through all of the sketchy weather!

Picking up from our memorable journey along the Great Ocean Road, we had a great time together in Melbourne and despite the record breaking heat we remained quite busy. On their own, they bus-toured through the city and took a boat tour of the Yarra and Docklands. As well as a couple of busy and boiling days at the Australian Open, we had booked them into a fairly rigorous itinerary. One night we had a fun dinner with Simon and Alex Davies and their kids at our place - complete with 40 plus heat! Another day we hit our favourite Pizza joint not so much for the food but for the fact that they had AC! On a Saturday we strolled Southbank in search of bucket hats and indigenous art and then hit the aquarium to check in with the penguins. After walking the arcades, we visited the creepy but morbidly fascinating Melbourne Gaol and were `treated`to a play about the infamous Ned Kelly who was hanged there. Colin was pulled up from the audience to play a turn as Ned`s brother Dan and did a smashing job!

On the Sunday we wandered down to the MCG, recently voted as one of the seven sporting wonders of the world, to watch Victoria and South Australia battle it out on the cricket pitch for the Sheffield Shield. There are more ìmportant cricket matches and trophies over the course of an Australian summer than you can shake a cricket bat at, and I was glad mom and dad had a chance to see the MCG. They even sampled the meat pies at the `G`washing them down with a cold stubby of VB which, in my view, might be half way towards a proper Aussie christening! Kinda like kissing the cod back home. There was a grand total of about 200 people in the stadium which I believe can hold 100 000. Needless to say, we had good seats.

Another night saw the adults dining down on the beach in St Kilda at one of Melbourne`s finest - the Stokehouse restaurant - while the kids endured the joys of a babysitter. This was the best meal I have had in Australia and the sunset, as pictured, was one for all time.

On the Monday before mom and dad left, the adults again headed downtown to do a few museums that were not high on the kids`list and we were all pleasantly surprised by the State Museum of Victoria and especially the Immigration Museum of which Linton has already blogged. After a few more looks for art, I dragged us back through the endless arcades seeking the perfect lunch spot as everyone graciously indulged my need to dine with the ``in` crowd. Unfortunately, my choice and the food were forgettable. As mom and Lint headed back up town to pick up the kids from school, I took dad over to a Dan Murphy`s just in case he needed any more wine.

That night we dined chez nous which, as we all know, is always better and cheaper than anything you could ever buy. I spent some time convincing my mom why we needed to send an extra suitcase home with them full of Halloweèn decor and as we giggled about what the customs officers might have to say, we supped another great bottle of wine compliments of dad. It had been a whirlwind eight days together and so it was with quite a surreal sense of sadness we hugged goodbye, hardly able to believe what had been so long in coming, was so soon ended.

Not 48 hours later we got a call from Peterborough, Ontario, Canada saying that they and our styrofoam Halloweèn skulls were back home safe and sound in the land of snow and ice. From 43 above to 20 below and all with a smile on their face. I am so impressed they came all this way to see us and so grateful for the time we got to spend together; unbelievably, in Melbourne, Australia!

Great Ocean Road - Part III

2009-02-10T13:30:00.033+11:00

I need to get back to our last holiday and take my mind off of the bushfires. That may be hard because one of our lunch stops on the way home from Adelaide - Waranambool - has apparently been affected. Everywhere you turn in this state, it seems they are still battling the flames and the fall out from Australia's worst peacetime disaster. The Royal Commisions are being established, arsonists are on the run, and people are becoming very angry...

Anyway, back to Adelaide. In the morning, mom and dad walked over to our very unique streetside hotel room on Franklin. Through some sort of miraculous feat of packing and people we managed to get all six of us and our bags, into the van and in relative comfort. We were destined for Robe, South Australia a mere 4 hours away and our route would take us back through Tailem Bend and then south down the coast. Climbing our way back out of Adelaide the van was full of chatter as the kids got caught up with Nana and Grampa. It was great to have mom and dad right there in the seats beside us and the sense of familiarity felt like home...which is not great when you're trying to drive on the other side of the road!

We stopped in a place called Meningie for coffee, scones and a stretch of the legs. Meningie is on the shores of a huge inland saltwater lake called Lake Albert. Shallow and murky it didn't look like a place you would want to swim but we walked a bit on the broad beach and marvelled at the view. After some great food but rather dour service, we were back in the van and heading south again speeding by endless scrub and flatlands with very little in the way to discern this hundred kms from the last. Lunch time found us in Kingston, a fairly remote seaside town nestled right on the Southern Ocean, and we all enjoyed a decent lunch beside what may have been the biggest lobster statue in the world - or at least the southern hemisphere! With all passengers seated in new positions we pushed on for Robe, rolling into the Robetown Motor Inn around 2:30. Interestingly, Robe was the jumping off point for a mass Chinese immigration during the Victorian goldrush as boats from China would land at Robe, in the state of South Australia, so that the workers would not have to pay a tax the state of Victoria demanded.

Feeling again a bit squeamish at the accommodations, or maybe it was the guy hacking butts outside our room 24/7, I was only too glad when we piled back into the van shortly after checking in and headed for Long beach to check out the boogie boarding and beach cricket potential. Happily, both were quite good though the water was churned up and felt a bit like we were swimming in spinach soup. Nonetheless, Colin caught some major waves and then retired to the cricket pitch to bowl some wicked yorkers to Nana and Grandpa. Great fun for all and despite a wonky back, Nana played wicket keeper with great aplomb. Grampa also managed to find a bit of his old school boy pace and form. Memorable stuff, indeed. Back at the motel, the kids had a dip in the pool while the adults threw a few steaks on the barbie. After a great dinner we were off to check out the local lighthouse and obelisk, catching a one-of-a-kind sunset.

With little time to explore the cafes and shops of Robe we were on the road early and before I could even get a decent cup of coffee! After stopping in Millicent for gas and cash I was still without a java by the time we rolled back through Mt. Gambier. Our first McD's wrong-sided drive thru experience in Oz quickly produced the necessary liquid gold and with my caffeine craving finally slaked we started working our way out of town and off to Waranambool - the scene of that pretty awesome park a few days earlier. Being Sunday, the park was a zoo (hardee-har), but the boys still managed to find their way onto the flying foxes for one more fling.

A very large part of the reason for this tour was to drive the Great Ocean Road with mom and dad and soon after lunch, we began to see the impressive coastline in all its glory. With the requisite stops at Martyrs Bay, the Grotto, London Bridge and the 12 Apostles, perfect weather gave our digital cameras a workout as we soaked up the unforgettable beauty. With a pit stop in Port Campbell for supplies and still buzzing with wonder at the views and the increasingly windy road we started the final leg to our Apollo Bay rental house.

Linton had found us a gorgeous place online located a few kilometres outside of Apollo Bay, set well up in the hills, and with a fantastic view looking back toward the ocean. It was a roomy but cosy spot to hang our sunhats for a day or two and came complete with an enormous projection screen, surround sound, stunning views, and a friendly pair of parrots. Though we were here for the scenery, as far as the kids were concerned, Transformers never looked or sounded so good! After a great pasta dinner and bottle of wine a la Grampa Peter, we were all in our happy place and looking forward to exploring the Apollo Bay area in the morning. As it was not perfect beach weather, we spent the next day walking in town, shopping for a few souvies, and then trekking out to the Cape Otway lighthouse where a climb to the top and a couple of roadside koalas were the highlight. Dinner was a lovely family meal at Chris's Restaurant, an area institution that hangs out high in the hills just outside Apollo Bay. Thanks, Dad!

With Melbourne now clearly in our sights, we packed up in the morning intent on making it to Lorne for another day of beach basking. Again the weather in Lorne cooperated and we lazed about the sand giving Nana and Grampa a good taste of what we had enjoyed so much just a few days prior. One more trip back to our favourite ice cream store for a taste of another kind (I think Alex had bubblegum with marshmallows and gummi bears) and then we were off winding our way back through Torquay and Geelong and finally back into Melbourne - excited and eager to share our adopted home with "the 'rents". Our third big Aussie adventure was over and our minds and mini-van were packed with the memories.

The Victorian Bushfire Tragedy

2009-02-08T22:19:00.011+11:00

With the Victorian bushfire death toll now standing at 84 and counting, my earlier complaints about the heat suddenly feel hollow and a bit careless. All around Melbourne rural communities are burning or in some cases have been wiped out altogether. Upwards of 700 homes have been lost. Despite what seemed like reasonable time and warnings, people have been caught totally by surprise by the power, speed and intensity of these fires. Several of the communities we have driven through in our travels - Ballarat, Bendigo, Shepparton, Healesville, Warranambool and Warragul are under siege right now with fifty different fires burning in the state. Everyone is praying for rain, less wind and cooler conditions. The army has been called in to relieve the volunteer firefighters and emergency fund hotlines have been set up around the state. There are hourly updates, special reports and we are glued to it all.

Thankfully, we are comfortable in the relative calm and coolness of central Melbourne enjoying a gorgeous southerly breeze blowing in off Bass strait. But this disaster is still hitting pretty darn close to home. The proximity is certainly part of it. Some of these fires are only 50-60 kms away whereas bushfires in the past have seemingly only ever raged in far off California.They are also undoubtedly directly affecting the lives of people we have come to know, so that too is beginning to weigh. I was also thinking about an equivalent event occuring anywhere in Ontario taking 84 lives in one day and I cannot think of one in my lifetime. The power of that loss would be massive and gives one a sense of the scale of this disaster. The other thing of course is that in trying times, one likes to be surrounded by the people you love and for us, that's not quite an option. This is an unwanted and unexpected twist to our adventures abroad but it is also a real reminder that all around our little bubble life and death go on.

The heat is too much with us, late and soon

2009-02-07T17:44:00.014+11:00

I had already documented the unbelievable Melbourne heat during the Australian Open but after today, I needed to write an addendum. The title of this entry is a borrowed and slightly altered line from one of my favourite poems by William Wordsworth. It, and the sentiment in the poem, seemed appropriate.

So we were again a part of history in Melbourne today as the mercury topped out at 46.4 Celsius. It could not have been more gross and everywhere we looked and listened Melburnians were hunkering down for the worst. Premier Brumby was on record calling it the "worst day in our history".

The day started out innocently enough with people out and about and carrying on around 8:00 am. Joggers were jogging, dogs were walking their owners, and dutiful dads were strolling their newborns down the street while mom got a few more winks. I was also up and at'tem, watering our front and back gardens in the hope that I might prevent anymore carnage. Both gardens are on their way to becoming stand-ins for the Gobi desert. Without rain "tank water" the water restrictions are such that it is virtually impossible to keep a garden green or even brown. But, like the dutiful tenant that I am, I was doing my best. The plants seemed happy to see me.

Two hours later the streets were abandoned. By 10:30 the wickedly warm northwinds had picked up and things began to get more than a little toasty. The wind is so bizarre in its strength - in terms of both velocity and warmth. At home, a hot day usually involves very little wind as you bake in the calmness and crave a nice breeze. Here the wind is very strong but the gusts seem hotter than the actual sun. It's like trying to breathe in a convection oven on broil. Soon we were turning out the lights and I was stringing up a sheet over our back doors to try to keep direct sunlight out. With power outages a real certainty we began filling water bottles and thinking about contingency plans, food, and flashlights. It was going to be a day of reading, computer games, videos and lots and lots of Lego! It would also be clothing optional.

Courageously Linton and Colin traipsed down to the local tennis courts (fully clothed!) for the start of his lessons only to be informed by a small sign and the gathering dust storms that tennis would resume on a cooler day. Once they were back in our little bunker, we cranked up the fans and watched the temperature climb. Another incredible part of this Melbourne heat is just how fast it can change, for better or worse. At noon it was 34 and by three it was 46! And the weather office had it all down to the hour. Remarkably, as a result of a mysterious 120 degree change in wind direction, the temperature had dropped again to 30 by 6:00pm and without a massive thunderstorm to clear the way. This blast was intense but thankfully brief.

If this whole year is a test of the family compact in terms of exposure, then a hot day in a tiny house only serves to increase that potentially strained dynamic. I thought we all did remarkably well. The kitchen was practically off limits due to the heat so we made do with fruit and cold cuts. We read and watched movies, played a few games, had a cold shower or two and simply tried to avoid any unnecessary movement. There were moments of frustration and restless boredom but when we did happen to poke our heads out the door, the inferno racing down our street made indoors seem like paradise. It was simply one of those moments where you knew that your fate and the weather was beyond your control and to resist or pretend otherwise was futile - and sweat inducing! Outdoors was just not an option. As Linton remarked, you know it's hot when it's too hot to go the pool.

As I write, it's a relatively pleasant 30 and going down, with a prediction of 19 overnight and 25 tomorrow. On Sunday, I am sure, it will seem like it never happened. Fortunately, living in the middle of the city, we have been spared the power outages, highway closures, brush fires etc. that much of the state has been plagued with. But record setting heat like we experienced today, just like bare ski hills might at home, suggest to me that there must be something to this global warming thing. And so, as Wordsworth wrote (and I am paraphrasing) in the same poem I quoted above, I hope that we haven't spent too much time "Getting and spending, and [laying] waste our powers" so that more of us might again be "moved" to see not "little" but all "in Nature that is ours". This kind of heat is simply unnatural!

Thoughts on living "away"... and returning home

2009-02-06T14:30:00.016+11:00

Linton here - I realize it is time that I posted a blog entry now that we are more than half way through our year away. I have had many realizations in the past few months. Some deeper and less obvious than others...but here goes and I am warning you now, I am nowhere near the writer James is...

When my in-laws, Jane and Peter, were here we went to the Immigration Museum. It's a fascinating place that creatively tells the story of Australian immigration over the last 2 centuries. And it reminded me that immigration is not just something people did last century. It's happening all the time; in fact, similiar to Canada, one in four people living in Australia now were not born here. I loved this museum for many reasons but mostly because it struck a chord within me about living "away". The opening line in the first exhibit was something like "Deciding to leave the place where you have grown up is one of the hardest decisions of your life". Aha. This is why people kept saying to us how adventurous we were to be leaving Toronto. The exhibit went on to say "Immigrants have to essentially start their life over again, setting themselves up, initiating friendships and creating a new 'family' and framework for themselves in their new location." Now that I am living through a bit of that, I can relate and have a new appreciation for immigrants all over the world. I certainly know, and was educated by the Immigration Museum, that most people who immigrate are doing so merely to survive or to avoid or escape political differences, war or natural disasters. I know we are so lucky to be able to choose to live in another country just because we were curious or were seeking a new experience/location to study at. But despite all the privilege that we have, it isn't easy living in a place where you virtually know no one and with which you have no history. It takes proactivity and optimism to be successful no matter who you are and where you have decided to live. Don't get me wrong, it has been an amazing year so far and we have met great people and had amazing travels/adventures; but it will be nice to get home to friends, family, our own house, a car and to a city that we know. I feel privileged to be able to experience this year as a temporary citizen and to not have to worry about how much more challenging it might be if we were settling here indefinitely or had been forced to come.

This theme struck me as well when I was in Hong Kong visiting my cousin, Sheila. Sheila and her family have lived in Hong Kong for 13 years now. They only planned on living there for a few years but have stayed because it was advantageous to do so from a career and lifestyle perspective. Still they talk of returning to Canada. I met a ton of their friends (all expats) who had done the same thing. Really amazingly educated, personable and fun people from all over the world who had all decided to leave their family and friends behind in pursuit of a different (and maybe better) life experience for themselves and their spouse/kids. This got me wondering - Are there only certain types of people who will risk and choose to move away from home? Am I one of those people? Why or why not?

Those people that know my family know that my sister Sarah has lived in Johannesburg for almost 15 years now. She initially chose to leave Toronto to be able to pursue her career to the fullest and then stayed when she fell in love and has been the CBS African bureau chief for 12 years. Right now she is spending four months in Vancouver as a CanWest visiting journalism professor at UBC. She is one of two international journalists that was awarded with this fellowship - very proud of her! It will be very interesting to get her impressions of being back in Canada after so very long and discover how she feels to be back even for a short amount of time.

Technology, specifically Facebook, has been an important tool for me living "away" and I am grateful that I live in an age where this is available to me. This technology and other social networking sites unite people from all over the world who are interesting in connecting. I know, I know - it is not for everyone, but this year, it is certainly for me!! I love the fact that I can stay in touch with family/friends so easily. I love that I have two new friends in Melbourne who are ex-Torontonians who found me through Facebook and that I get travel advice from friends all over the world. I also love the fact that I can tell James that there has been a significant Canadian news story/event (parliament proroguing, snowstorms) before he reads the Globe online because someone has commented on it through their Facebook status. Technology has made this year easier for me because at any time of the day/night, I can see who is on Facebook or Skype and connect with them.

So upon reflection of the whole "going away for a year" thing, it has been totally worthwhile but a ton of work - luckily I like being busy. Just to actually execute the logistics of removing ourselves from our Canadian life and establishing oursleves in Melbourne was a feat in itself. To survive the first few months, ensure the boys were settled at school, make new friends and create a life for us here has been the next hurdle. Incredibly, we are now facing the last half of the adventure and we are conscious of maximizing the remainder of our trip but at the same time not wanting to return home with a mountain of debt. As we dare to look a little further down the road, we are even starting to think about and plan for how we will resume our "normal" lives as smoothly as possible back in Toronto. This requires us to transition back into our Toronto existence - move our belongings back into our house, find a childcare arrangement for the kids, change back all our insurance, utilities, bills, finance....get the kids back into their activities, etc, etc. In essence, a reverse immigration.

There are also many things that will be different upon our return - I will hopefully have a new job (anyone offering?), James will have a new bigger job at school, we will be very broke, some friends will have bigger families or some may have moved away, Canada will be in a recession, the list goes on. But what I can't really anticipate is how I/our family will feel when the novelty of being back is over. Will I have satisfied my need for travel and new adventures? Will I yearn to be a stay at home mom again? Will the kids be happy picking up where they left off at school and with friends? Time will tell. But in the meantime, I am going to enjoy these last few months while they last - as a lucky, grateful guest of this wonderfully welcoming country.

P.S. - I have just finished The Book of Negroes, which I highly recommend. In it, the main character, Meena, an African girl brought over to North America as a slave in the eighteenth century, spends most of her life trying to return back to Africa to her village and "her people". She eventually does end up returning to Africa but once there, realizes that her experiences abroad have shaped who she is and what is important, not where she is from. She has changed and so has her homeland.

Great Ocean Road - Part II

2009-02-04T19:44:00.021+11:00

With sandy shorts and heavy hearts we loaded up the van and pulled reluctantly out of Lorne. Would we ever spend four such glorious days on the beach again? This had been the stuff of family legend and we were sure that the halcyon days spent guiltily soaking up the sun and surf might never be repeated, ever. The stars have aligned themselves in many strange and wondrous ways in Oz, and perhaps nowhere did we feel the vibes of luck and good fortune more than on the gentle shores of Lorne.

But that was yesterday and today we had some major mileage to make up. We were going to save the really scenic stuff for our drive home, so this leg of the journey would take us away from the ocean but hopefully a little faster to Adelaide. From the golden shores of Lorne we climbed inland over a beautifully twisty road that again forced us to engage the rating system and after a "below 7" urging from Alex we spent a dusty few minutes at the side of the road trying to catch our breath and balance. Thankfully, only a few more turns separated us from flatter and straighter highways and soon we left the seclusion of the secondary roads to join one of the three major roads between Melbourne and Adelaide. Our eventual destination would be Mt. Gambier, the second largest city in South Australia, but before we got there we would enjoy a rainy lunch in Warranambool, a seaside town famous for its shipwrecks and killer playground. The boys and I had a fantastic time flinging oursleves down the best flying foxes I have ever seen. Australia, I must say, does parks right!

Needing to get another few hundred kms under the wheels of our trusty Toyota Tarango, we scarfed down our picnic lunch in the foggy confines of the van and then headed onto the open highway like Kerouac's Sal Paradise, not knowing what we would see or where we would stop next but certain that we were headed in the right direction. In fact, this particular trip was really our own version of a classic "road movie". There were the seedy motels, strange characters, and always the road pulling us on. Of course, there were not the endless parties, bizarre drug use, ,and way cool soundtrack of an Easy Rider or even National Lampoons Family Vacation but in the same way that the road movie captures life through the collective journey, our drive to Adelaide neatly captured the four of us living within whatever the road presented to us every day. Upon reflection, the freedom of not knowing where you would eat, what you might see, or who you might meet as you pull into the outer limits of the next, new and dusty town must be part of what Sal and Jack were so desperately addicted to. And though many of these places seemed so remote and faceless, the thrill of what the next place just might hold had become quite enchanting.

And it was with such a mind that we rolled into Mt. Gambier - pronounced Gam-bee-err - not with the obviously french influenced Gam-bee-ey that we consistently wanted to use and had all of the locals giving us the "You're-not-from-around-these-parts-are-yuh" hairy eyeball. Our first stop tends to always be the "i" which is the local tourist info booth and is always good for a few brochures, a pee, and at times a cool thing to climb on. In this case we discovered that Mt. Gambier was actually settled on top of a series of ancient rivers, caves and caverns and beside an old, very extinct volcano. Way cool! This was something new and different from the now very "boring" coastline and beach vistas and we all oohed and aahed at the size of the crater that formed Blue Lake at the top of Mt. Gambier.

After checking in to our hotel and checking out a few more caves and sinkholes, we had a passable Thai meal at the Banana Leaf cafe on mainstreet Mt. Gambier. Something a little less awe-inspiring than the caves, or the food for that matter, was our Best Western hotel room. Linton thinks I am becoming a bit of a hotel snob, and I will admit to a growing need for a firm mattress, thick walls, a clean bedspread and furniture that evokes a time period other than 1930's Oklahoma. If that's what makes me a hotel snob then so be it. Suffice to say, on our budget, we have experienced a very wide variety of what Australia has to offer in terms of budget accommodation.

In the morning, we faced our longest drive yet as we needed to get to Adelaide by 6:00 to meet my parents. Before we got underway we visited Englebrecht Cave which had been a special promise to a very disappointed Alex who had shed a tear the night before when the cave had been closed. Again working inland we soon made our way through one of the most famous wine regions in Australia - Coonawara - stopping briefly at Wynns vineyard to sample a bit and buy a welcome-to-Australia bottle for my dad. Blasting our way past endless cattle stations, windfarms, and the odd secluded vineyard we stopped for lunch in Keith, South Australia where we were again welcomed by a very friendly and playable park. They boys were in heaven on a gravity-propelled train-like thing that would never see the light of day in Canada for fear of the 27 different types of potential for litigation. Here in Australia however, we were relaxed enough to see that it was perfect and safe enough for our kids.

With a "take away"long black precariously perched in the cup holder in order to fend off the inevitable post-lunch head-bobs, we pounded the pedal for Adelaide needing only a pee and petrol stop in strangely named Tailem Bend in order to finally make Adelaide. Crossing the Murray River and descending into Adelaide was nicely familiar and more than a touch exciting both for the sense of conquering another large chunk of the Australian continent and knowing that this journey had actually brought us within reach of family from home. Our dinner and reunion at Stanley's seafood restaurant on Gouger street was one of the most satisfying meals I have had in years.

Feb 3 - Another lucky fan buys a souvenir!

2009-02-03T16:31:00.006+11:00

What is it about travel that seems to demand a souvenir? From the earliest days of “My parents went to Florida and all they bought me was this lousy t-shirt” t-shirts, there seems to be a need to mark one’s success at actually living and breathing in another country, with the purchase of some sort of trinket or doo-dad in order to more fully remember the experience. The pictures in the photo album are never enough, the beaded hair eventually needs to be washed, and the "unforgettable" memories of the mind are hardly reliable over the long term. And so, we need that t-shirt, sculpture, rare faux-crocodile lampshade or simple fridge magnet stuffed precariously in our luggage to reappear somewhere in our rec room announcing to the world that “I have been here. I have travelled. See my stuff. Hear me roar.”

I’m asking these questions because unquestionably I, too, suffer from the need for a travel status marked by the accumulation of unique indigenous material possessions. To start, I am trying to blog my experiences into a sort of permanent online record as a way of perhaps validating and then remembering years later the thoughts and emotions we felt at the time. I love it and, at times, it seems like all I really need to “take away” from this year. But then, I have been as equally obsessive about capturing our year in pictures. In fact, the family has posed so much in front of so many supposedly important landmarks that I think they could all do it blindfolded in the dark. And if the blog and the digital picture library are not enough, I have taken to making a very comprehensive scrapbook for all of our brochures, billets, and bits of flotsam that seems to gather in our wallets and back pockets after every trip. The scrapbook began as an activity with the boys – but, like Michael Phelps caught with bong to lips, I do not deny that I have claimed it as my own.

All of that activity might arguably represent legit examples of logging a once in a lifetime adventure – and yet there are so many, many more examples of souvenir excess; for one, my fridge magnet collection. I did not land on the shores of Australia thinking I needed a new fridge magnet. Let alone a collection. But as we began to frequent more and more gift stores and tourist traps, I began to notice that for no more than five or six bucks, some lucky tourist (or me) could depart with their very own replica picture of the rock, building, or venomous animal that they (or me) just paid good money to see in person. What’s more, as a magnet, that same lucky tourist (me) could go home and plant his purchase on the nearest fridge for all (my family) to see. Needless to say, I have managed to “collect” a few magnets over the past few months with the constant rationalization that they are cheaper than a t-shirt and will last twice as long. If I had in fact purchased a magnet at every possible store that was selling one, we could conceivably have 40-50 such prizes adorning the front of our lucky fridge. As it is, I have shown some admirable restraint with our tally currently coming in at 18…and counting.

Another reason for why I think the magnet collection is not bigger, is that I have discovered the next great collector’s item – beer coolers! If there is a fridge magnet at every gift shop, there will undoubtedly be a beer cooler placed right beside it. And while magnets at least retain some sort of dignity in terms of their relative usefulness and ability to convey a sense of place, beer coolers adopt a slightly more bizarre but funky trinket status when they are sold to market something so unrelated to beer. I have seen beer coolers promoting lighthouses, penguins, museums, and everything in between. In fact, we just visited the Old Melbourne Jail the other day, the site of many hangings and the execution of the infamous Ned Kelly, and I decided I needed a Ned Kelly beer cooler. ..A Ned Kelly beer cooler!! I bought it like I was buying a fine piece of art. It was perfect. It made sense. And I knew where I would display it…maybe I needed to start thinking about a display case. The current beer cooler count is three…and counting.

Fortunately, at least for our bank account, Linton does not share my need to mark visits with material gain. Well, unless you count the slow, methodical, and calculated collection of beach wear that seems to appear just before every holiday. The same can’t be said for the boys. Understandably, more for a six and nine year-old than a 42 year-old, the guys are always keen to pick up their own trinket or momento, perhaps as a kind of reward or medal for enduring the hot slog and forced march their parents’ have just subjected them to. In the early days of Australia we had some major blow ups in the back of a few gift shops when the clash between budget, good taste, trunk space and useless plastic toys all mixed together into one huge, ugly domestic dust-up. Usually, the kids won, though the victories and dust ups for that matter have been far less frequent of late. Maybe, just maybe, they’re getting enough joy out of dad’s magnets?

There have been still yet other moments of touristy materialism, though not all in such bad taste as a beer cooler or with such shouting as the incident at the Aquarium. In Alice Springs we splurged on a small original piece of indigenous art. In Byron Bay we bought a black and white photograph for a picture wall back home. We’ve purchased wine in Coonawara and t-shirts at Uluru all in the interest of bringing them and their memories back to Canada. Indeed, the wish list goes on and with no end in sight. Lint is eyeing a fancy purse made by a unique Aussie designer. I’m thinking seriously about a laptop bag from a very trendy bag maker. And Colin is still bugging us about getting a footy Guernsey from his favourite team – Hawthorn. Though we celebrated at the start of this adventure about how much crap we were able to rid from our lives – it would seem some of us are back to crap collecting in a big way!

Well, maybe not crap. But certainly more stuff. And maybe the difference between the crap I hurriedly dropped off at Goodwill last June and the beer coolers I am planning to bring home this July is the fact that there was not one emotional or significant memory tied to the those old toasters and broken toys. Whereas, each of the magnets and every one of the coolers has a moment, an event, or a venomous animal inextricably linked to it. So that when we do buy the odd tea towel or puka bead necklace on vacation we are not so much as adding needlessly to the future garage sale boxes we all have in our basements; rather, we are trying to buy symbols, cheesey as they may be, for those moments in our lives that mattered. And if any of that’s true, at our current rate of momentous moments, the fridge on Harwood should start to get nervous. Now, I just need to find that perfect digeridoo…

The Great Ocean Road - Part I

2009-02-01T08:24:00.034+11:00

As I write this I am watching the men’s semi-final of the Aussie Open between Nadal and Verdasco. It’s a five set, five hour thriller and is the best tennis I have ever seen. The commentators are talking about it as the longest match in tournament history and it would seem fitting that on a day of record breaking heat there would be this, a record breaking tennis match. It’s 1:00 am, I have a nice cold glass of white wine and I am glued.

For our third major trip we had planned to drive to Adelaide and back along the iconic Great Ocean Road. Recognized as one of the great coastal drives anywhere in the world, the Great Ocean Road is home to the 12 Apostles, the start of Aussie professional surfing and innumerable vacation properties and communities dotting an endless array of picturesque bays, points and inlets. This would also be the trip where we would finally see family, in the flesh, for the first time in six and some odd months. My parents, Jane and Peter, were meeting us in Adelaide after having done some of their own trekking and traveling across this great country.

But before Adelaide there were many klicks of beautiful, and at times desolate, country to cross. With our first mini-van of the year packed to the gills with cricket bats, boogie boards and more stuff than we really needed we headed west across the Bolte and Westgate bridges. Our destination for the first leg of the trip was a relatively short three hour drive to a seaside paradise called Lorne. On our way there we would drive by the Avalon airport, Melbourne’s Mirabel, then down through Geelong and past the grammar school where Charles attended for a term or two. After Geelong you head due south to the coast and soon into Torquay the home of the longest running pro surf competition anywhere, the Rip Curl classic at Bells Beach. With time on our hands we decided to check out the Australian Surfing Museum and were impressed with the amount of history surrounding the sport. Having surfed for a couple of hours a few days later, my appreciation for the guts and athleticism of surfers has increased tenfold.

After setting the boys up with a new pair of crocs from one of the many surf shops along the Torquay strip we boarded our bus and set sail for Lorne. This was to be the same road Allie had lost his lunch on a few months back so we were in constant contact with the back seat asking both boys to update us on their rating – a scale from 1-10 – that is set to determine one’s nausea levels. A report of perfect ten is good news to the driver and co-pilot. A report of 7-9 is fine but indicates a need to open windows or reduce speed. Below seven is cause for more major concern and may entail an emergency roadside stop or the immediate need to disengage from all distractions and to stare straight at the horizon. Below 5 is a very dangerous rating and to hit a “two” would mean that all passengers should immediately duck for cover. Thankfully, with the rating system firmly engaged we coasted into Lorne with nary a dizzy thought or a scary burp to be had.

Lorne for us was paradise. We were booked into quite a nice place - the Mantra Erskine Beach Resort - which in a way reminded me of a newer Hermitage Club, at least in terms of the grounds. With the beach on our doorstep and the town at our back door we settled into 4 days of surfside fun and sun. Lots of sun. Days were spent boogie boarding, building sand castles, playing cricket, frisbee and soccer on the beach and being about as lazy as humanly possible. In fact, losing track of time and the date wasn't the half of it. There were times in these few glorious days where we laughed at ourselves and the relative "nothingness"of it all. I think we came to a point in Lorne where the sheer absurdity of the fortunate and fabulous situation that we found ourselves in finally came home to roost. Our stress levels involved administering enough sunscreen or whether the tide would wipeout the latest sandcastle. Lunch was food eaten anytime between the time when breakfast ended and dinner began. In fact, dinner reservations and store hours became an irritation and interruption to our slow, sloth-like existence. Were we finally heaving off the burden of the anal, stressed-out Canadian and adopting a bit more of the Aussie "no worries" culture? I'm not sure.

But another thing that occurred to me in the sun soaked stupor that Lorne had us in, was that the beach life is perhaps passing me by. No longer does lying in the sun have the appeal it once did. I need a lot of shade to make a full day of sitting in the sand bearable. As well, not that this boy's ever had rock hard abs, the prospect of baring all on the beach has also reached a new low in appeal. I find a sunshirt is now a convenient way of avoiding a burn as well as a misplaced jiggle or three. Additionally, my two hours wallowing in the waves, more off than on the surfboard showed me that surfing is a very young man's game. Wandering around the surf shops only reaffirmed that niggling notion. The piercings, tatts, haircuts, and fashion are so clearly beyond anything I would consider. I must so obviously look like I must be buying something for my son. Am I now destined for more golf and tennis and less in the way of surfing or wakeboarding? Certainly, I will never experience the joy of landing a reverse olly 540 mcTwist. And that kinda sucks.

These are the types of thoughts and experiences that troubled our beached out brains along the Great Ocean Road. Relaxed and reflective, the fortunate frolic on the sands of Lorne finally brought us to the realization that these could truly be the best, most relaxing days of our lives.