The Burden of Learnin'!

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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.