FIJI DAY15/16

Well here I am writing about the conclusion of our holiday six weeks after the event. For me the exercise has lost its gloss but finish I must.

Friday 31 Aug was our last full day on Naigani and we were determined to make the most of it. We rose before dawn to wait for Toka the fisherman to come at the appointed time of 6.00am to take us out deep sea fishing, the trawling with heavy gear stuff that we'd never done before. At the shore in the dark Paul from Christchurch was waiting with his young son. Toka came from the direction of the village loaded with fuel containers. He'd started the generators at the rear of the resort on his way. It was daylight by the time we took off, heading east towards Ovalau Is.

As the sun rose

Lib and Paul, Naigani in the background

 

Toka took us on big circuit around in the deep water. We didn't catch anything though I had a big strike at one point. Breakfast was still on when we returned, then we returned to our bure to pack a picnic and a bag and the camera wrapped in plastic bags for another trip around the island, this time stopping for a snorkel at Picnic Beach, and intended photography at Cannibal Caves. It was the perfect day, sunny, no wind, flat water. The paddle to Picnic Beach was easy. Lib, in front of the kayak, pointed the camera blind over her shoulder and took a photo of me in the back. Strangely it came out well.

But you can see clouds building

Our snorkel at Picnic Beach was memorable, by now I was quite proficient and we stayed close and shared the experience. We devoured our picnic hungrily and said our goodbye to this magical place.



The bush behind the beach
 

As we were leaving the wind picked up. We paddled in the direction of Sacred Bay. The round the island cruise boat, which we waved to a few minutes earlier as it passed, came back in our direction.On the boat was Weiss, Illianna from the restaurant, and a villager at the helm and four passengers- Nobby and Ray from Sth Australia and their wives. Weiss asked us did we want to come on board as the sea was rough ahead and they could tow our kayak back. We said no we were OK but the boatman said it was too rough and I could see he wasn't joking, so knowing that he knew better than us we boarded and he tied our kayak to a rope. We were so glad we did, the trip around the south of the island and past the village was really rough going and a bit scary even in the motor boat so it would have been dreadful in a kayak.

Saturday 1 Sep after our last meal in the restaurant we packed in our bure and went to the boat loading area. It was overcast windy day. Some staff gathered to farewell us with a traditional song and we departed Naigani about 10.30.



We will remember these people with fondness

Our man and driver was not there to meet us as he said he was but another Indian fellow with a van was so we had room to give Mark and Tracy a lift to Suva. They were intending to catch a public bus but were glad of a free ride in comfort for the 80km or so. We said goodbye to them in Suva where our driver left us for an hour to have lunch. An hour or so out of Suva, our driver Vinnit who took us Nadi to Natovi two weeks earlier met us and we transfered to his Forester for the trip back to the Novatel Hotel where we had our final night.

Next day we took a cab to Port Denarue, a very upmarket resort area with a boat harbour with many expensive yachts and cruise boats. It was worth seeing but not to our taste so we didn't linger after a lunch and some shopping and caught public buses back to Nadi and the Novatel, where our bags were in the store room.

Our flight was at 6.00pm. We managed to get a bottle of water on board with us. It was uneventful and totally boring except for the spectacular lights of the big city of of Melbourne as we descended on a perfectly clear night. The cold air was a shock leaving the plane but there was something welcoming about it. Gord and Rob picked us up, it was well after midnight when we arrived home much to the delight of Snow and Pip.

BULA VINAKA

 

FIJI 13 /14 - Something Strange

Wednesday Day 13 of our Fiji holiday saw us looking for pippies again in the morning, so much had we enjoyed the previous day. We were quite good at finding them this time and quickly had a good bag. It was low tide and a villager was catching fish by sneaking up to the water's edge and throwing a net out to where he saw surface disturbance and then pulling in the net. I went over and he had a dozen and a half little fish in the net that he was sorting through. They were only about 12 cm long but he kept them, I guess they have a way of utilizing fish that size.

Pippies

Fisherman

When we went back to the bure we put the pippies on the table on the verandah and Lib took a photo of them. We then took the pippies to the kitchen, offered them to the cook or kitchen hand who accepted them gratefully but made no suggestion of cooking them so we went back to our bure for lunch and a read. The room staff made up our bure while we did this, they came in each day and made the beds and swept and filled the water filter. The power was off as it was every afternoon till about five, and we went for some afternoon exercise,walking to the summit. We were away for about an hour and we couldn't understand why all the lights in our bure were on and the ceiling fans were going, and the air conditioner. We hadn't used the aircon once till this point, the temperature always being warm but comfortable.

Our joint conclusion was that the man (usually it was a lady but this time it was a man) who cleaned the bure must have turned everything on as he cleaned without realizing it as the power was off and nothing would have turned on with the switch. I couldn't work out how someone would accidentally turn on every switch, but it seemed like nothing to worry about.

The next morning I woke fairly early and got up to enjoy a cup of tea and read in the front room. Lib was still asleep in the bedroom, I was wearing underpants and a singlet only, when about 7.30 Weiss was on the veranda and he knocked on the glass sliding door.

"Your early checking the water Weiss," I said, feeling a little odd in my underwear as I let him in. I had no clothes handy so I just acted normally as if it was not unusual to have someone knocking on your door unexpectedly while you weren't dressed.

"No, I haven't come to check the water, i just thought I'd pay you a visit and have a talk," he said.

I told him to sit down, and I did too, and we made small talk for a few minutes, then he said nervously, "Actually Carey, there's something I want to ask you."

"Go ahead Weiss."

"Would you be able to lend me ten dollars? I owe Heppy ten dollars, it's pay day tomorrow, but he wants his money back today, I'll pay you back tomorrow."

"Yeah no worries Weiss." I went to the bedroom to get wallet. I only had F$50 notes. "I've only got a $50."

"That's alright I have change." I gave him a fifty and he gave me two twenties. I told him he didn't have to pay me back.

"Oh no I must pay you back," he said. He thanked me and went on his way. After he left it occurred to me that it was strange he had forty dollars to give me change when he asked me for ten, but then he might have been ten short for what he owed Heppy. It seemed a bit odd though. Some days earlier at Lib's insistence I had given Weiss F$50. We liked Weiss, he impressed us with his politeness and assistance and how he made us feel so welcome. Lib had spent some time talking to him on our boat trip to Levuka the previous week. He was on the trip to go to the hospital to get medicine, he didn't say what for. He had a long term plan to go to Australia and do floral arranging, he said, and he was saving all the money he could for that purpose. Lib wanted to give him $50 for him to save to go to Australia one day. He may be 18 or 19 years old, I'm not a good judge.

After breakfast the tide was well out and it was overcast so we decided we'd go for a walk and gather more pippies. We looked for the camera and couldn't find it. We looked hi and lo and couldn't find it. We always left it on the table in the front room. We remembered the last photo we took was of the pippies at lunchtime yesterday. Lib said she put the camera on the table, as always.

It must have been stolen we concluded. We never locked the bure, in fact we didn't have a key, we weren't given one.  My wallet was always with me, and I hid it if I went snorkelling. It didn't seem like a place for thieves.

We went to Heppy's office and reported the stolen camera. He said one was handed in yesterday, some kids had found it on the beach, he went to get it from lost property. Sure enough it was our camera. The kids had left with their family this morning.

We'll never know for sure how our camera got from the bure to the beach, or how everything in our bure was turned on when we went for a walk the previous day. The kids that found our camera on the beach were in the bure next door to ours the first day they arrived, but their parents asked for another one nearer the pool so they moved. We reckon the kids got in our bure and stole the camera and turned all our switches on, but when they found the screen was broken they handed it in saying they found it on the beach. The bure next to ours where the kids family had been, also had lights on in it even though it was vacant, when the generators worked, so the kids had probably been in there and turned things on too.

And it may explain Weiss turning up early to ask for ten dollars, to see if we'd had our money stolen too. He knew our camera had a broken screen, Lib told him about it on our trip to Levuka, so when it was handed in he would have recognized it as ours. Maybe the kids told their parents they found a camera or were seen with it and their parents made them take it to the office. They were young kids, under ten. The family was English, but had lived in Suva for 9 years. He had a diving business.

I hope this has not been too boring. I did want to write about this, and the whole Fiji holiday. It was a memorable and fantastic holiday. Weiss didn't give me the ten back.

FIJI Day 12

It was another nice day. The plan for this day was to follow our track across the island toward Picnic Beach but veer off it to the left somewhere up top and find a track to take us to Sacred Bay which may well be much less steep than that down to Picnic Beach. We packed lunch and started out along the shore where a group of villagers, a few women and some children, were headed in the same direction. She asked where were we going and I told here up into the hills to picnic and explore and I asked her the same thing. She said they were going to collect pippies and if we wanted when we came back we were welcome to come over and she'd show us if they were still there.

Just as we were turning into the bush Tracey's voice boomed, "Where are you two off to?" I don't know if they'd seen us and followed, but there they were. They'd asked us where the track was before and we'd told them but they were keen for us to show them how to get to Picnic Beach so up the hill we all went. We took them across the top through the bush farms/plantations to where the descent became steep and from where they couldn't go wrong, then we went our own way following a track through the plantations heading south hoping to end up at Sacred Bay.

Mark Tracey and Lib

We didn't get all that far when came across a village farmer who was friendly and courteous but said politely that we were on his farm which was OK but there was no reason for us to keep going that way, it was just people's farms. We took the hint. He said his name was Toka (must be a common village name) and he told us the names of trees and edible plants and enjoyed answering our questions.

Toka the farmer with a bunch of Taro

 

 

This lady was so nice

We went back down to the shore after chatting to another farmer for a while on the way back to see the ladies and kids working away gathering pippies so we joined in. It was a lot of fun.

Mark and Tracey came back quite late to the resort, after walking back around the shore not wanting to go up the steep ascent. They left it pretty late and had to go quickly to beat the tide they said.

FIJI DAY 11

Monday morning was the best weather we'd had on the island. Clear blue sky, no wind, calm sea. We decided to kayak round the north  end of the island to Picnic Beach.

By now we were feeling relaxed and confidant on Naigani. We knew most of the staff and our way around and the routine, even getting a kayak off the rack and heading out did not have that self conscious element we felt the first week. We'd been waiting for a calm day to venture out of sight of the resort in a kayak around to the other side.

Mark and Tracey from Sydney turned up on cue just as we were about to leave. They were back from their morning scuba dive. They were out on the dive boat every day, except the one when it was cancelled because of the weather. They had a knack of finding us when they weren't diving, "What are you two up to," Tracey's loud voice would demand before you'd seen her.

"Were off to Picnic Beach, perfect day for it."

Mark chimed in, "The young czech bloke kayaked round there last week. He reckoned it took him 20 minutes to get to the point."

Off we went, Lib in front, me in the rear trying to remember to co ordinate with Lib's paddling. The water was blue green and clear then deep blue as we were over deeper sections. There was a gentle swell right to left that hardly affected progress and I was surprised at how quickly we went. Checking the watch it was right on twenty minutes of steady paddling as we reached the point and turned left to travel the north of the island. It was much quicker than walking along the shore on the slippery rocks. The gentle swell of two or three feet was now coming from behind us and pushing us along. It was exhilarating.

We reached Picnic beach in about forty minutes or so since leaving the resort, again we we had it to ourselves and there are some times in life that you remember clearly forever and this day will be one for me. We decided to make use of the calm weather and continue around the island. We didn't take the camera for fear of getting it wet but we did on the following Friday, FIJI Day 15, so I'll put up a couple of snaps when I get there. This shot below is someone else kayaking in front of the resort but it gives an idea of the scene.



A Kayak in front of the resort, looking more or less ESEast

It was a solid paddle down the west side past Sacred Bay and then past Cannibal Caves. The sea became rougher as we rounded the south side back to the east side. Now we we were heading into a bigger swell coming directly towards us and a head wind. The last half hour or so past the native village and back to the resort was hard work. The circuit took us about two and a half hours of which half an hour was stoppage time on the beach.

As we returned Mark and Tracey were about to leave on an afternoon diving trip. "Did you go right round? Was it hard?"

"No it was good mostly, but the last bit was a bit tough, the sea was rougher and the wind stronger."

The Czech guy was with them. "I went round last week, it took two hours and the last bit was hard."

We had a little rest in the afternoon, well pleased with ourselves that we'd rowed around. We didn't set off intending to, it was meant to be a stepping stone for a circuit later in the week. Next time we said to each other, we'll take flippers and snorkels and camera and lunch at Picnic Beach.

 

FIJI DAY 9 /10

Saturday was the day a number of our new friends were leaving. John and Jenny and Seth and Sarah from Los Angeles, Paul and Odette from Montreal, Terry and Kristie from Florida, and Andrew and Gill from Sydney all gathered about 10.30 to board the boat back to Viti Levu. The staff gathered to sing a traditional farewell song for them and Lib and I said our goodbyes.

Lib had come down with the very sore neck and swollen glands and had fever as well so after the farewell we went to the little store (which opened for half an hour each day if anyone turned up) to buy some panadol, then we went back to the bure to read and rest. Lib stayed resting till dinner, I took an afternoon walk to the summit before happy hour.

I'd stopped making diary notes diary notes by this point so my comments for the rest of the trip will be from memory totally and brief, but there's yet to come some interesting stuff I'd like to record and some more photos I'd like to put up so I'll persist over the next few days to finish my commentary of our Fiji trip.

Sunday was a rest day if I remember, with Lib still a bit crook. I took a solo walk in the afternoon, it was from memory the worst day weather wise, with the wind at its worst and some drizzly rain.

New people hadarrived on the Saturday return boat, Paul and ? from Christchurch NZ, Nobby and Ray and wives from Murray Bridge in SthAust and Jim and Patricia from the Gold Coast.

I just checked and we took no photos on days 9 and 10, probably because Lib was crook and we didn't do much anyway. I made a serious dent in Michener's 'Carribbean'.

FIJI Day 8

After breakfast we walked to the summit and instead of returning the same way we continued along the track which wound it's way back around the hill and came out back at the resort at the staff quarters, after which we took our books and read by the pool. Lib swam.



We had lunch in the bure and in the afternoon went on the village tour. Our escort was Weiss, I think all the resort guests came on the tour, perhaps 16 people.

Lib and Weiss

A senior man, Raoul I think his name was, greeted us and gave us a talk about village and some of the history. The village used to be on the top of the hill where they were safer from marauding tribes coming by canoe as they had look outs constantly watching for encroachers, and a bit of a fort as a last resort. The missionaries came about 100 years ago and it took about 20 years but the chiefs eventually agreed to put away the war clubs and live in peace. They then relocated the village down to where it is now on the shore. Raoul gave a demonstration of blowing the conch which one man is elected to do for one year to call a village meeting. There were basket and mat weaving demos and a carva ceremony. The village was super clean and tidy and the villagers so warm and friendly. It was a memorable visit.

Raoul with conch and kids under vessy tree

It was explained that before the resort was built in about 1980 the main source of income was dried coconut powder, the only commercial crop, their other farming of bananas, cassova, taro etc being for their own food. Going way back a white man lived on the island, an escaped Irish convict from Australia named George Riley who escaped by boat and befriended the chief on Naigani who allowed him to build a house there. Riley's descendants lived there right up till the resort opened if I remember rightly and the resort restaurant was once the Riley household, if I'm right. Since the resort opened the villagers have employment and income and electricity from generator a few hours a day for cooking and washing machines etc and even TV in many houses. The diesel to run the generators is costly.

Roaul and me

Carva ceremony

    

Grand Final Day

Lib left for Lakes last Wednesday with Gord and I came down yesterday evening. I brought Robbie's old laptop with me and arrived about 7pm. I'm sitting at the dining table facing the ocean which is postcard blue in the bright sunshine and flecked with thousands of whitecaps in the strong wind. Lib's gone for a walk to Bunga before we fire the barbie to cook our steak and sausages, I'm listening to the races at Mornington and Morphetville, there being no city Melbourne meeting probably because the footy grand final is on.

Lib's taking a long time so I'll leave of here to finish later and go and light the fire.

Well, here I am Sunday morning finishing my post. Same table same view, Lib and Gord are yet asleep. Lib came back as I went down to light the barbie yesterday and took over the cooking, she loves cooking on the open fire in the little barbie. Lunch and timing was good, the game starting as we finished.

What a great game and Sydney are deserving winners. I enjoyed the game and result as much as if my team won it I'm sure, but you could argue that I wouldn't know as the last time I experienced that it was 1964 when I was 12 years old.

I'm heading home today, I'm about to slip down the street to see if I can find some bog or putty to repair some rot I found late yesterday before I go. I don't think hardwares are open here on Sunday and I don't think the supermarkets stock that stuff, but I'll try.

Lib and Gord will come home tomorrow.

CHEER CHEER THE RED AND THE WHITE 

School Holidays

It's school holidays at the moment, which is of little significance to me except that there are no young ones walking to school bus in the mornings. I miss them. I like to wave and say "G'day have a good day" to the regulars I cross paths with. I love their youth, their nervousness, their seriousness that breaks into a smile sometimes when they return my offer of greeting. I was once like them. I understand far more than they know I do.

One day not long before we left for Fiji the teachers were on strike for more money, so there were no kids that day. A few days after we got back the teachers were on strike again, no kids again. I love seeing the kids. I really do feel for them. The week after we came back their was a Four Corners' program on youth suicide which is apparently statistically on the increase to alarming levels.

I don't have any answers. I do know kids ask themselves the meaning of life, and have self doubt and fears of failure in this capitalist, competetive, winner and loser society we thrust them into. It sucks. The best things in life are free for most us; fresh air, sunshine, friendship, love, nature. I don't have to own it, and money can't buy it. It's all there every day if I'm open to it. I don't worry about the meaning of life. I don't know what it is. I had this discussion with my son Rob just the other day To me it's a mystery we all share, whatever paths we follow. I don't think the dentist who screws me $80 for a ten minute examination and clean, or the specialst who charges $110 to read my blood tests last year are any happier than me. No wonder then the plumber gets ideas and ups his fee. We've had the cops on strike this year, the ambos, and the fire brigade too. They all want more,more, all the time. It's not the answer. If I could think of an answer, best I could offer, "Open your your eyes and your heart." But I don't want to preach.

I just wish the teachers' union would bugger off and stop setting such a terrible example and let me enjoy seeing the kids go to school.

FIJI Day 7

Thursday of week one was a quiet day, with a kayak session after breakfast followed by snorkel at low tide in front of the resort.

This time we took a single kayak each and paddled for about an hour in front of the resort. I felt we'd reached a bit of confidence with kayaking and the plan was to pick a nice calm day and paddle round to Picnic Beach soon. And to kayak around the island if weather permitted was also a goal berfore we left.

To snorkel at low tide we had to walk out to the little island at the front of the resort and then some more across rocks to reach water but it was worth it. I was by now also reaching a level of confidence with the snorkel and enjoying it far more than at the start, keeping up with Lib and sharing the maagnificent underwater scenery.



The small island in front of the resort. The other large island in the background is Ovalau island on which Levuka is situated.

After our picnic lunch in the bure we had a sleep in the afternoon. We'd selected vegetarian stir fry for dinner, after which we talked to Andrew and Gill Stringer from Sydney who had arrived on the island the previous day. Most of the arrivals and departures were on Saturdays apparently but there were a few during the week. Of the five couples that arrived on the previous Saturday including us three were staying a week and Tracey and Mark from Sydney were staying for two as Lib and I were.

Gill and Andrew were from Sth Africa originally. They went to Canada soon after marrying in 1979 with Andrew's work with an accounting firm and because of the political turmoil in Sth Africa were not in a hurry to return home and lived in Canada 8 years. With a young family they migrated to Australia after deciding they wanted to bring up their kids in a warm outdoor climate similar to what they grew up in with the traditional summer sports. Interestingly Gill's background was Spanish but she was raised in Sth Africa. Andrew's grandparents of one side had migrated to Sth Africa from Kyneton Victoria no less in the ealy 1900's. After the Boer war there was depression in Australia and a Kyneton resident returned from that war telling his grandfather he should try Sth Africa for work. It was a British colony. So grandfather and his brother hopped on a ship to Sth Africa and found work and liked it there so they brought out their fiances from Kyneton and married them straight away almost on leaving the ship.


A few of the boys putting a roof on

FIJI Day 6

Wednesday was the day of the tour to Levuka, the old capital on a large island, at a cost of F$80 each or A$50 thereabouts. It was about an hour's boat trip. This was where Fiji was ceded to the British in 1874. There's a large fish cannery there, a hospital, a museum and quite a lot of shops. Several of the resort staff including Frank (skipper), Mila, Weiss, pronounced Wice, Toka, all Naigani villagers, came for the outing and stocking up, and another, the bloke who sang and played guitar in the restaurant each night whose name escapes, also came as his home was there, high up on a steep hill that he pointed out. We later met his wife and kids on the shopping strip.

Our main purpose besides sightseeing was to stock up on tuna cans and sardines etc for our lunches, and of course wine and beer as much as we could comfortably fit in our bag. Food supplies other than potato crisps and Twisties, Pringles were not available on Naigani, obviously they wanted you to eat in the restaurant. We'd taken the two meal package, breakfast and dinner, leaving lunch to be what we had brought which wasn't much, and or what we could knock off at breakfast like a few slices of toast and fruit (concealed in our floppy hats which were in hand not on head). The 2 meal package was F$65 pp so that was F$130 each day or about A$80. If you add a bottle of wine, F$40, the cost was getting up. Those prices aren't bad when you compare them to any restaurant in Aus, but who eats every day at a restaurant?

We enjoyed the trip and lunch on the balcony of a second floor restaurant. Fish chop suey was my fare at about F$8 while Lib went the chicken chop suey which was quite salty I noticed when I finished it for her. Toka sat at our table. He solemly said grace before eating, and asked us if we were of a particular church to which I replied "Not really, you could say Church of England I suppose."
In answer to my question he said his was "All Nations".

I asked him could I get him a drink as I went the bar and he said "Yes thanks, a soft drink." Later, as if to return my gesture, he carried our heavy bag from the supermarket to the boat. We only saw the museum in the last ten minutes before we were due to leave but in our quick look I was fascinated and could have spent hours there I'm sure.

The only downer for the day was a painfull neck that developed and got worse during the day. At the back of the neck, in the muscles at the side, most irritating to turn the head or look up or down. I thought maybe the snorkelling had irritated, I spent much time self massaging which I think annoyed Lib a bit because it distracted me from whatever she was saying or pointing out. Wives don't like that. I had a few jabbing pains in other parts like feet, knees and elbows, but not alarmingly. The neck was sore for a couple days, but not to stop me doing anything.

Three days later Lib's neck got very sore, same place, and she had quite pronounced swelling, and other pains like I'd had, and she also had a fever. We decided it must have been a virus.

Levuka from the jetty

Main street Levuka

Footy Tipping

Final scores in the footy tipping comp, according to my records which have been difficult to locate, were as follows-

Robbie         152
Carey           148
Rickyralph   144
Gord            132
Lib               132

Rickyralph congratulated me on my victory over him by email yesterday. He said I won by 2 which differs from my records but I may be wrong as I was away for the last three rounds and submitted my tips before I left and had a devil's job trying to go back over the results and sort it out so I may well have made mistake. In our little private comp the loser buys the winner lunch (and wife) so there's a bit rides on it but it's a good way to keep connected weekly as a fun thing. Rickyralph won the previous four on the trot, now I have 2 on the board and intend to back up again for a threepeat next year.

Hawthorn vs Sydney Grand Final next week is a first in history between those clubs. Hawthorn will be strong favourites but I'll be hoping that Sydney can get up. I'm older enough to remember clearly when Hawthorn had never won a premiership, before September 1961. The only kid in our neighbourhood who barracked for them was Graeme Strachan, later 'Shirley' of 'Skyhooks'. Now every second person follows them and they have won ten premierships. I dislike them they are as bad as Collingwood almost, powerful and arrogant.

Not that I could give a stuff really, the AFL is an insidious money grabbing, contriving monster, and my reluctant interest was ingrained into me from early childhood. I have not been able to purge myself.

FIJI Day 5

It was a clear still morning so we went for a kayak trial followed by a snorkel before breakfast. After a read and a rest we packed a picnic again and flippers and snorkels etc and headed off to find the track entrance I had found on day 3. It did continue and rose up the ridge and across the top of the island and then descended to the other side at Picnic Beach as we suspected. Along the top of the island there were cassova and banana plantations in obvious farm type situation in the bush. We kept moving in the direction we thought Picnic Beach would be, following what looked to be a track. The descent to the beach was very steep.

The snorkelling was fantastic in clear water amongst the multicoloured coral forest with millions of tropical fish in brilliant colour. I had never snorkelled before this holiday and struggled a bit with water getting in the pipe but  I improved as we went and Lib just loved it. She's a good swimmer and snorkelled as a kid.

Again we had the beach to ourselves. Finding the track back was difficult to start off but once going up the steep rise there was no problem discerning the route. It was a difficult climb and it was easy to lose footing and slip. It was only an hour or so each way but due to the steepness down to the beach and the climb back up it was not something you'd do every day, at least not at our stage of life.




Lib on track across island

Lib on Picnic Beach





 

FIJI Day 4

Picnic Beach

Lib was booked in for a full body massage at 11.00 am. I forgot to mention in my day 3 post that I had a massage on that day, full body one hour at special weekend price of F$40, or about $25 Aus. Magic it was. 'Mila' the masseur, sister of Frank the spearfisherman, was booked out for that day and couldn't fit Lib in but said she'd do her on the Monday at the special price.

After Lib's massage we packed a picnic and took off on a walk around the north end of the island as the tide was receding, with Picnic Beach our destination on the other side of the island. The NZ couple had given us a description of the shoreline right around. Picnic Beach, just around the north end, on the west side of the island was great for snorkelling and fishing they had said. The next bay around was Sacred Bay which was special to the villagers and they didn't want anyone fishing or mooring there. Further around there was 'Cannibal Caves' and then as you rounded the south of the island back to the east side there was the village, and then on around a jutting steep outcrop you were back at the resort.

There were organized boat trips every couple of days around to Picnic Beach for snorkelling, at F$20 per person, but we preferred to do our own thing. Walking on the slippery rocks turned out quite difficult especially for Lib but it was worth the hour plus a bit effort as Picnic Beach was an idyllic tropical island scene which we had all to ourselves. Lunch was sardines on bread and bananas and pineapple and water. After an hour or two we looked for a track heading inland that might take us back overland to avoid the slippery rocks but the likely looking course all petered out into thick vegetation, so we had to go back via the shore line. We made it back comfortably enough before the tide came in which could leave you stranded if you left it too late.

The week before we arrived, the Kiwi's had told us, a group of Chinese were staying at the resort. Apparently none of them wanted to do the organized activities like skuba diving, fishing and snorkelling boat trips or round the island boat trip, sunset cruise or anything else. Two of them did choose to walk around the island, which is possible if you leave when the tide starts to go out and you don't dilly dally and get stranded. There's one place between Picnic Beach and Sacred Bay where you can't walk even at low tide and have to swim about 100 metres. At that point there's a large rock which is out of the water at high tide but is surrounded by water as the tide comes in.The ywo Chinese did not return for dinner and the alarm was raised. The villagers put a boat out at night and with an educated guess found them on the rock at about midnight. Apparently they could not swim.

On our walk back we saw a number of sea snakes in the rocky pools, these abour 1-2 ft long but harmless we'd been told. By now we were aware that the weather conditions changed quickly. The wind was still about but eased and strengthened , clouds came and went, it was by no means perfect but hey, it was always warm.

Cheer, Cheer, The Red and and The White

I woke up with this lovely feeling. I had to share it. Words are inadequate. Try song.

CHEER CHEER THE RED AND THE WHITE

Wangaratta Weekend

Molly's house finally sold and the three good sisters and spouses had to remove all furniture prior to settlement which was today, so last weekend we, Lib, Gord and me, tripped north with trailer in tow behind the carryvan, and the old Subaru. The trip up was eventful. A highway patrol car passed me near Bonnie Doon going the other way and promptly did a U turn and pulled me up, issuing an infringement notice to cost me $141 for not having the trailer registration sticker attached to the trailer.

Dinner at 'Rinaldo's' on Friday night wasn't bad, fortunately the tab was picked up by the estate. Saturday morning saw me tracking down Gerard O'Brien to borrow paint and brush to touch up trailer number plate, the obscure condition of which had been the attractant for the brave defender of justice and law and order who pursued me the previous day.

Saturday arvo, a typical warm sunny north east spring day where you could get sunburned if you didn't have a Fiji tan, saw us at the O+K grand final at the Rover's ground between Whorouly and Nth Wang. After a nervous and scrappy first half they settled down and played some good footy after half time, Whorouly coming from 4 goals down to level the scores at 3/4 time. Nth Wang ran away with it in the final term. Greta FC was doing the catering and I bumped into a few I knew- Squeak Dinning, Johnny McCarthy, and Franny O'Brien. Franny was well recovered from a recent stroke and was on duty in the bar. I was amazed at the amount of cans consumed on our half time walk round the ground. Wangaratta is a boozy town. Someone said Greta would have pulled $50K profit on the catering. They borrowed one of Bushy Dinning's refrigerated dairy trucks and had it chock full of pallets of cans out the back and sold nearly all of it.

Sadly I learned of the passing of Andrew (Max) George, CHF in our 1980 premiership team, claimed by bowel cancer. I met Max in 2010 at a reunion for the first time in 30 years after he left for WA where he became a successful businessman. He was then in remission.

Saturday night saw us at Dianne Murray's 70th birthday party, a gala event where we renewed aquaintance with many old friends. Catering was by the chef at Rinaldo's who came in with his equipment and cooked on site a succession of superb apperatifs or entrees continuing through the evening.

Trip home fully laden on Sunday with furniture and Molly memorabillia was uneventful. Little Suzy van handled the big load over the mountains easily and there was no repeat copper heroism.

The end of an era. Lib has been melancholy since, finding place for Molly stuff, including paintings posters, crockery and nic nacs. It's all very sad really.

Day 3 Fiji

Sunday was our first full day on Naigani. There was a wind coming from the east which the NZ lady yesterday had described a trade wind. "Pity about the east trade wind coming up today, it'll be here for 8 to 15 days, feshing will be no good while it's here."

I wasn't worried about the feshing, or the wind. It was warm. The morning brought overcast skies and drizzly rain. The tide was out. We walked south along the rocky shoreline, stopping to shelter from rain under rocks on the steep bank up from the high water mark a few times. I slipped on a rock, instinctively throwing out my left hand to break my fall. In so doing the plastic bag I was carrying in my left hand swung down crashing onto a rock. Thinking the binoculars may have broken I was relieved when quick inspection showed they were fine. I then removed camera from case to find the screen broken and inoperable. Lib's camera, 50th birthday present from me, six years ago. We both had become attached to it. The next hour was tense with few words spoken and a mood of disappointment and frustration, simmering anger, and guilt, regret, plain bloody sorrow. I should have had a shoulder bag or a backpack.

The camera still turned on and the lens popped out. It still clicked and flashed when you pressed down on the button, but we had no way of knowing if the shot was actually being taken and stored on the memory. Screen was shattered.

That afternoon we took a walk to "the summit". It was a climb up of about 20 minutes from where you got a good view of the overall lay of the island. The track was the only one marked at the resort, or talked about. The NZ couple had told us of another track that went to the native village where tourists couldn't go past a gate through a wire fence unless invited in. Up till then we knew nothing of a village on our island, and said so. "It's only five hundred bloody metres away along the track at the back of the resort." There's another track further north across to the other side of the island too, but the villagers blocked it off with branches and things, because of a dispute with the resort about unpaid lease money or something."

You could clearly see the village from the summit, a number of iron rooves nestled amongst coconut palms in the distance just in from a nice sandy beach. It looked very clean and tidy, but we could see no people, except for one man wading out from the shallows to an out board motorboat which he boarded and began to do some manual work like checking or repairing fishing gear. I had a good sight of the man and the boat through the binos.



The Village from the Summit

After returning to our bure we walked north along the shore. I was always looking for what looked like it might be track to the other side of the island. After a couple of explores that were dead ends after a promising start only to be short diversions into the bush where piles of coconut husks and crab traps showed they were just foraging entrances, I found one that looked promising still a hundred metres or so in, going back then to tell Lib and making a mental note of where it was. The tropical vegetation was quite thick and the entrance to a track not easily seen.

On the way back we had to pass the NZ couple's bure. The lady came out to talk. We told her about the camera. She offered to put the memory card in her lap top and see if the camera was working. It was. At least we could continue taking photos even if we had to just point it and hope.

We told the KIWIs we'd been to the summit and saw the village and a man boarding a boat who we saw later go past in the boat and wave to us warmly not a half hour ago. "That's 'Toka'. He's the boat fesherman. Frank, the driver of the boat that took you to the island from Natovi Jetty, the only other one with a skipper's licence, is the main spearfisherman. They sent him out earlier to get more fesh for the restaurant because Toka didn't catch enough. Toka's father used to eat human flesh, they still practised cannablism here into the 1930's. Toka knows more about the history than anyone else. He'll talk if you go feshing with him."

Happy hour was from 6 to 7 when stubbies were cheaper at the bar so we bade good evening and headed for the pool garden. As we enjoyed our Fiji bitter the NZ lady came over and sat down and gave us more info on the subtleties of Naigani.

I'd insert some photos now but I can't find the camera and as Lib is asleep I don't want to go rummaging in the bedroom. Hopefully I'll find time later.

Fiji Day 2

Hotel buffet breakfast was good. I took the cooked option as well, the lady cooking in the outdoor kitchen was the Indian lady, hotel staff, who had walked down the hill with us the previous day on her way home, telling us about Nadi and where to walk. She was so friendly and did me the most superb omlette.

Our driver for our transfer to Natovi jetty on the other side of Viti Levi arrived 20 minutes early but we were ready in the hotel reception. He was Indian Fijian, named Vinnit, and drove a 2000 Subaru Forester which had done 450,000 km, as he told me in answer to my enquiry. Nice sort of a fella really, but his mobile phone kept ringing during the 5 hour trip and he talked in Fijian or maybe it was Indian which got on my goat in the end. He did know a fair bit about the history and flora. he told me Fiji was 50% native, 40% Indian whose ancestors came out to work for the Poms on the sugar plantations which the natives would not do.

The boat was waitng for us at the jetty. Last on, others on the boat particularly one couple, joked about our 2X6 boxes of wine. From that early point we had the reputation as pisspots amongst the others. There were five other couples on the boat and the talk before finally heading off was about how we had all got to the jetty and from where and how much it had cost. There was a couple from Florida, another from Toronto Canada, two couples from Los Angeles and another from Sydney, near Cronulla in fact.

Boat trip was thirty or forty minutes in quite rough sea. After disembarking we gathered in the foyer of the restaurant and were given details of the island and alloted our bures by manager Heppy, a large native Fijian with a soft feminine voice. He called out names and gave each a bure. Ours was bure 8, about 100 metres walk from the restaurant and office and fronting the sea. It was big for just two of us, two bedrooms with double beds and two more beds in the large family room.

Lib in front of Bure

Inside

 Front Garden

We took a walk before dinner along the shore, it was low tide. We met the couple from Cronulla, Tracy and Mark and talked with a Kiwi couple who had been staying in the bure at the end for three months. They had their own boat and were leaving day after tomorrow, heading back to NZ now that the worst of winter was over. They told us much about the island, none of which meant much then but as the fortnight unfolded it all had helpful relevance.



The Kiwis

Dinner was seafood buffet. We talked with the other couples before retiring early. No TV. Electricity went of late in the evening when they turned off the generators. Pitch dark when you woke up for a pee. There was supposed to a bedside torch but there wasn't, I didn't mind, I felt my way along the walls and peed in the warm night air. Coconuts dropped from palms in the night, thump! Waves slapped at the shore at high tide. I dreamed extravagantly. Did for the whole sojourn on Naigani. Travel dreams, erotica, people I hadn't seen for years. It was great. It was so warm. I loved the night.

Bushy Joe

 I did this for Sgnpost before we left and I liked it so I post it. 

 BUSHY JOE FROM GEMBROOK

Joe Hilder lived with his maternal grandparents in Launching Place Road in Gembrook for four formative years in his early childhood. He’s unsure of the circumstances leading to this, but it was during the Great Depression, and he was the oldest of eleven children born by his mother Gertrude.

Joe speaks fondly of his grandfather, ‘Ganna’, whose real name was Karl August Rissinich, a kind old man of German origin, a sailor who jumped ship, an illegal immigrant. WW1 was difficult, ‘Ganna’ having to leave various towns, and he was locked up more than once as an alien. He came to Gembrook in 1917 where he was tolerated and did odd jobs like scything grass, fencing and cutting maize.  

Joe was not happy when moved to Fairfield in Melbourne in1934 to attend school for the first time. His mother was devoutly Catholic and wouldn’t let him go to the Gembrook Primary School.

“I was nearly eight years old and was put in what they called the “Bubs” with the very young kids because I’d had no schooling. I was like an elephant in a dog kennel. I’d never seen a nun before; they frightened the daylights out of me.  The other kids called me ‘Bushy Joe’. They didn’t hurt me, but they did pranks like locking me in the dunny.”

Joe came back to Gembrook at eleven years old and attended St. John’s Catholic school in Ferntree Gully. His future wife, Peg Kermond, whom Joe had known since they were very young, also attended St. John’s. Joe recalls, “The bus, 'Old Emma', had no windows. It was a freezing trip in winter.”

Leaving school Joe moved back to Fairfield, hating it. His first job was delivering groceries on a pushbike for thirteen shillings and nine pence a week. He worked hard and one day his dad saw him and pulled his truck over, telling Joe to get in. “What about the groceries,” Joe protested.

“Never mind about that, just get in,” his dad said.

Later dad took Joe to the boss and gave him the groceries back saying, “If anyone’s going to kill this kid with overwork it’ll be me not you.”

Joe got a job with another grocer and this time had a horse and spring cart for deliveries. After a while he was sacked for galloping the horse, which you weren’t supposed to do.

Another job was with a firm that made wooden throat swabs for hospitals amongst other things. Small blocks of wood were boiled in a copper, removed by a worker with tongs, and put in a guillotine. Joe picked up all the slivers of wood after they fell.

“We had a Christmas party and although young I had a glass of beer. Mum smelt it on my breath when I got home and that was the end of that job.”

The family moved to Greensborough into a house more a big hut. It had no windows, only flyscreens. At that time Joe,14, worked on a chook farm and constantly smelled of chooks which he didn't like.

“A letter came from Auntie Ag in Gembrook saying the store wanted a boy. I rode my bike to Gembrook and started work at Ingram’s. Dad had taught me how to drive and I did deliveries in the Bedford ute. A woman complained to the policeman that I didn’t have a license so he came and said if I gave him two shillings and sixpence he’d give me a license.”

When old enough Joe joined the air force in WW11. They asked anyone with a license to step forward, Joe did and they gave him an airforce license and he drove trucks in Brisbane helping the Americans load their equipment on to ships. He returned to Melbourne, was discharged, and went back to Gembrook, resuming at the store which had sold to a man named ‘Head’. Peg now worked there. They married in 1947. Joe built a house himself, learning as he went and asking advice from builders. His neighbor Jack Birtherwell had the bus run to Pakenham and offered Joe work driving the bus. He went to Melbourne to get a bus license. They gave him one without a test as he had a semi license. Joe never sat for a license test. 

Sixty years ago Joe started the sawmill JW+PJ Hilder in the main street opposite the school, where he also had a hardware business. He and Peg also ran the Blue Hills cafe and ice cream store in the 1950's for a time.

The mill was relocated it to its present site on the Pack Track /Launching Place Rd. corner thirty years ago. It’s now operated by his son Wayne.

Joe and Peg have raised eight boys and two girls. Joe built ten houses in Gembrook. He once drove the whole family to Cairns for a holiday towing a caravan he built himself. As a hobby he built model ships and you can see his model saw mill and steam engine at the Gembrook station. He's had poetry collections published and was a member of a bush band that performed for age care facilities all over Victoria, playing accordion. Not bad for ‘Bushy Joe’.

Joe and Peg have 28 grand children and nine great grand children.  Joe’s eyesight has failed but he retains a sense of humour and love for family, life and Gembrook.                                                                                                                                                             

Arrival in Fiji

View from Hotel

Our flight to Fiji a few weeks back was unpleasant. We'd had dinner at Westlakes restaurant in Chinatown on the way to the airport with Rob and Gord which was wonderful, celebrating Lib's 56th birthday which was to occur while we were away, and heightened by the excitement of impending holiday. We had a four man banquet with a couple of bottles of red wine, mostly enjoyed by Lib and I as the boys, unlike their parents, are light drinkers if at all. After arriving at airport and doing the check in thing Lib and I indulged in more wine in the departure lounge to escape the boredom of waiting for boarding in what seemed a huge throng of every size and colour people and crying children.

After a big feed at the Chinaman, always a bit on the salty side, and all the wine we were thirsty as soon as we were in our seats on the plane which seemed to take forever to hit the throttle and scream down the runway. We didn't sleep despite the 11.30pm take off. I watched the movie, recall enjoying it, but can't remember plot or title. Lib couldn't get comfortable and shifted and sighed and complained to the plane waitresses that she was thirsty to no avail, they didn't return with water till the scheduled trolley run. At one point late in the trip I went to the loo and managed to get Lib a glass of water from the kitchenette on the way back, but it hardly touched the sides and seemed to waken a more ferocious thirst. Lib was quite dehydrated, a dangerous thing really.

The plane descended into Nadi airport about 6.20 am on Friday morning as dawn had just broken. Transit through the airport was thankfully fairly speedy. We bought a dozen bottles of duty free Australian wine on the way and the first thing we did when through customs was buy a cool drink each with our Fiji dollars and skull it down. We sat waiting at the airport entrance for 10 minutes or so as groups of people departed in a variety of ways until the Novatel Hotel shuttle bus turned up and a driver helped us load our bags and boxes of wine from the trolley to the little box trailer. We were the only ones on the minibus and the driver was friendly and informative and in the ten minute ride to the Hotel, which included a five minute wait at a level crossing to let a sugar cane train crawl its way toward the sugar mill, he gave as good a precis of Fiji history, politics and industry as you could hope for.

The hotel reception did not have our room available (before 8.00am) when we arrived so we left our luggage at reception and made our way to the swimming pool stretching out on those recliner pool lounge chairs in the welcome shade of a huge "rain tree", as the man cleaning the pool told me it was in answer to my enquiry. Lib fell asleep promptly and I may have nodded off briefly but for the most part I watched in the tree and shrubbery looking for birds. There was no one around except for the man cleaning the pool, and few birds either, most of those I saw were Indian minas just like those prolific around Gembrook. It was warm to hot, nearing 30C I reckon, a test for two southern state Australians only hours out of a frigid winter.

After about an hour a man came and told me they had a room ready so l left Lib asleep and went to room 510 with a porter helping with the luggage. I changed clothes- into shorts and sandals and went back for Lib who was still fast asleep. The room had a big glass sliding door at the back which opened up onto a little porch with a table and chairs and magnificent view across a big grass area with two big strong trees, and a valley to large hills in the distance. After showering Lib slept till about midday. I admired the view and started Michener's "The Carribbean". I have never found sleep in the day time easy but probably a few hours of shut eye was what I needed.

After midday we walked down the hill that the hotel was located on, into the outskirts of Nadi and a little supermarket where we could buy picnic lunch (fresh fruit and banana cake and Fiji water ) and we found a little park where we could picnic on the grass. Not far away were two groups of Fijian native teenage school kids, about ten in each group, one boys one girls. They were calling out to each other and skylarking and joking. There was a friendliness with warm open smiles from the locals where we walked and we felt comfortable. On the way back I found a little boozer and bought some stubbies of Fiji Bitter (made by Foster's Group) to try later, with some bickies and cheese, back on our little porch with the ripper view.

Dinner in the hotel restauraunt was disappointing but did not dampen our good spirits. We watched Geelong playing St Kilda on the TV but were too tired and turned it off at half time and we slept like like a couple of tired old dogs.   

Phone Line Back

After six days with no phone line connection to our house following last week's storm, the Telstra technician reconnected us this morning. This after a couple of weeks away in Fiji away from internet access. I don't have time to post properly but will do so as soon as I can find time after clearing a multitude of commitments.

Fly Away

In less than twenty four hours Lib and I will be on the plane to Fiji. I have a list of things to do in the morning as long as your arm including packing. We're having dinner in Chinatown on the way to the airport to celebrate Lib's birthday and flight is scheduled for 11.30pm. I hate flying these days. It worries me but I always cope OK.

Two weeks in warm climate must do me good. We discussed taking Rob's old lap top, deciding in the negative, logic being that it'll probably be better to break normal routine. I intend to hand write diary, short and sweet, to post when we return. It'll be a joy to do do lots of reading and walking and whatever else presents.

Bye all.

Where Time Stood Still

I recall saying that I'd post my 'Signpost' article on Nigel Griggs if it were published and it was.

                                                                  Where Time Stood Still

In 1995 Nigel Griggs was attracted by the green countryside and trees at Emerald. His passion for steam trains in childhood was a factor, as was the clock outside the National Bank. Whenever he looked the hands were in the same position.

“I was looking for peace and quiet after thirty years travelling and staying in hotels, and living in cities. I needed a change, a new life. The National Bank clock showed this was a place where time could stand still. The first home I was to own would be in Emerald.”

Nigel grew up in Hatfield, a small town not far from London, in the 1950’s. His older brother Paul, five years senior, was a big influence. Nigel reflects, “Older brothers tend to ignore kid brothers, but Paul involved me and accepted me into his own friends. When I was seven years old I was playing washboard in his skiffle group. We were both crazy about steam trains and spent all our time behind the factories train spotting.”

On Nigel’s fourteenth birthday in 1963, Paul persuaded him to buy a bass guitar. “He had a band but no bass player. I had been studying classical piano for several years but it was a chore. So I gave up piano for bass, a symbolic change because the piano represented the conformity and discipline I had lived with, whereas bass was in a band with no written music and no rules. ‘The Beatles’ had arrived; and like other kids I could feel the world changing, with music leading the way.”

 ‘The Cortinas’ performed locally for two years while Nigel was still at school. Nigel explains, "The Beatles may have had tens of thousands of girls screaming at them, on a local level ‘The Cortinas’ had three or four hundred doing the same thing. I was getting screamed at and chased in the Hatfield shopping centre, fan letters arrived every day, and Mum was always chasing girls from our garden. Mum and Dad took it well; Mum became our manager and Dad built most of our equipment and became our roadie.

Nigel left school, got a job as clerical assistant at the Ministry of Social Security and continued with ‘The Cortinas’, who by now were travelling further afield.  In 1968 the band changed its name to ‘Octopus’, Paul and Nigel quit their jobs and the band went full time. Nigel began writing songs and they recorded a song called 'The River' which became a hit in Italy.

By now they played much of their own material and had followings in many parts of England, but all was not right. “There were differences of opinion and at the end of 1971 we decided to break up. The band had lasted more than eight years.”

Almost immediately Nigel had a call from a drummer friend who lived in America, offering him a job in a Flamenco/Rock group. In Nigel’s words, “Fantastic band but after a while there were problems and maybe I was a bit homesick, so I returned to England and stepped straight into another band which didn’t work out either, then another. After 8 years with one band, during 1972 I spent time with six different bands."

Nigel teamed up with Paul again and they did a few pub gigs around London. In an odd twist, John Carter from the ‘The Ivy League’ was writing and recording pop songs under the mame of 'Kincade' but had no desire to tour or perform. When “Jenny, Jenny, Dreams are Ten a Penny’ went top ten all over Europe, the record company needed a face for the product.

“Paul, I and a guitarist friend became the face for ‘Kincade’. Every few weeks we’d fly to Holland, Spain, Portugal or Germany where we were treated like VIPs and mime songs for TV shows and discos. It was a peculiar situation; fame and the appearance of success but in reality hating the music and struggling to pay the rent."

Disillusioned with the music business Nigel became a 'cabbie' before his luck changed in 1975, playing bass in a millionaire’s band in the south of France. It was, says Nigel,  the best time of his life and the worst. In April 1977 after an arduous audition process with a funk band heading for Greece, he was gutted when he missed out in the final play-off.

However three days later he met 'Split Enz' in London and after a couple of auditions was offered the job. Success followed, relentlessly touring throughout Australia, New Zealand, Europe and North America until 1985 when they decided to call it a day.

Today Nigel still creates music, gardens, and looks after abandoned animals including three goats and two sheep and his cat Voodoo. He visits his Mum, Phyllis, in Hatfield every year or two; she is 92 and still lives in the same house.

After 17 years the NAB clock has gone.... but Nigel is staying.    

   

Join in The Chorus

Well it was a fantastic effort by the Kangas to defeat Essendon after losing two players to injury in the first quarter. In our tipping comp Rickyralph and I were deadlocked and I'm now one up, although I was late getting my tips in and the Eagles/ Geelong game was over before I sent him my tips. If he lodges objection I'l have to dock myself a point leaving us again level but I think he'll accept that I wouldn't cheat after the event and acknowledge my Eagles tip as valid.

I tipped the Swans to beat Collingwood and therefore missed out on a 9 from 9. I had four 9 game multibets, mine, Libs, Rickyralph's, and Cassie's. Cassie is a young friend of mine with an uncanny ability to win the tipping competition she is in. She gives me her tips and I put $2 on for her and $3 for me each week. So I lost $20 on the footy this weekend and had a poor go at the races except for Lady Jodalyna last race at Cranbourne which returned $46 for my dollar each way and balanced up the weekend. Ironically Robbie was away for the weekend so I put his tips in for the round and he (I) got nine right, but I didn't back his (my) tips.

Why

Here I am
aged sixty
wondering
Why

Why am I not dead
I should be
will be
Inevitably

Life is cheap
look road toll
think Tobruk
We all die

Why is it
why why why
I don't know
Do you

Babies die
mothers die
soldiers kill
I live

Here I am
for now
tired sleepy
why

I breathe
I eat
I see
I hear
I dream
I love
I cry
I know not

Why

A Foul Day, A Foul Mood

I was wrong last night about the weather being fine today and bad on Thursday. Gusty wind blew all night and this morning and the weather cracked up before noon with rain and severe cold. It was no fun at all although I did manage to get a bit of bookwork done, after a small bit of picking. I have nothing much to sell at the moment.

It's been one of those days when everything annoys me. The dogs and chooks have irritated, every time I go out the door they seem to be underfoot. Tonight Pip especially has sooked and grizzled, and wants to sit on the chair she wants to sit on, not the one I have prepared for her. She really wants my lap but I'm up and down. In the end I put her outside with her coat on, much to her disgust as she's been sleeping inside most of winter.

Most of all my thoughts are annoying me. Politics, business, local council, customers, whatever runs through my brain annoys me. The boys are in and out of the room I tried to watch TV in, rattling cups and getting snacks, making noise and mess, nothing on TV appealed, I turned it off. Now this blog is annoying me.

Why? I can't tell you. I feel like I'm going stir crazy. But I'm not in jail. Or am I, in some sort of mental prison created by bad weather and media bombardment about carbon tax, gay marriage, escalating utility prices, financial crisis, the Olympic games, my miserable football team? There's so much I want to do before our Fiji trip in a week. I just want to get stuff done, but there's so much stuff and so little time. I am stir crazy. Everything is needling me. I feel my fuse burning.

I'm about to retire but before I do I'll brown some mince meat and toss it in the crockpot with onions and garlic and tinned tomatos etc for a spaghetti sauce while I take green tea. Maybe then I'll be soothed enough to sleep.

For sure I need a holiday.

July Rainfall

The July rainfall figures are up in the post office window. We had 125 ml compared to the 38 year average of 112ml. That's seven months out of seven above average for the year. 125ml may not sound much to a Queenslander where they have regular torrential downpours in the wet season but on top of the six previous wet months and three months of cold temperatures and little sunshine, well it's been slippery and miserable. It's been wet in early August too already, although the last couple of days have been dry with a bit of wind to dry out the surface. It's shortlived though. Tomorrow should be alright if the red sky tonight is a clue, but Thursday is forecast again as bleak, cold and wet.

Solastalgia

Last Thursday I went out to gathersome firewood such was the state of our dwindling stocks and the ferocity of the chilly winter temperatures. This was the third time lately I had done this. There I was happily sawing up a few small dead trees I'd spotted on the roadside not three minutes drive from our house when a woman pulled up in her car and walked back to where I was working. I stopped the saw and gave her my attention.

"Do you have a permit to be be doing this?" she asked.

"No, I don't," I replied. "Should I have one?"

"Yes," she said. "That is private property on the other side of that fence and this is council land along this road."

My immediate reaction was to tell her to go home and wash her husband's shirts or do something anything useful but I bit my tongue.

"I won't be long, I'll just fill the trailer with what I've cut and I'll be off in a short time. I'm sorry to intrude on you."

With my concilliatory manner, her disposition changed and she explained she didn't know who I was or where I was from, and that she owned the land on the other side of the fence and didn't want people coming down her road cutting firewood. I answered that I lived in Agnes street as I pointed to the ridge and said I'd been gathering wood along here and thereabouts a couple of times a year when my stocks ran low for thirty years. No one had ever suggested I should have a permit before and frankly it had never entered my head. In my view I was doing everyone a favour. I continued, saying I was pleased to meet her, I had wondered who had bought that block, and that I wouldn't cut wood there again if she objected. She said it was OK by her, now that she knew I was local.

But my mood had darkened. I felt like a stranger in my own town. My days here are numbered. I relate this story because slowly but surely Gembrook has changed, just like Emerald has changed and both towns and indeed the district are not the same as they were. Frankly Emerald is buggered and Gembrook is almost. A trip to Pakenham is stuff of nightmares. I look forward to leaving the district. It's a difficult thing to put into words.

This morning on the ABC I  heard a bloke who'd written a book about the Hunter Valley mention a new word he'd come across, "Solastalgia". It's the phsychological effect of the changed environment when people suffer a sort of homesickness while they are still in a place. The changed environment means they miss the place, even though they are still there. It was a term invented by an environmentalist referring to the Hunter Valley and the massive changes that have occurred, particularly with the mining of cold seam gas. It's a mishmash of the words nostalgia, desolation, solace. It is me.

I'm suffering Solastalgia. I'm no longer comfortable here. I'm in a constant state of homesickness. I've felt it in Emerald for years, and now it has seeped into Gembrook. I'll be happy to move on and leave the district to the developers and new residents, sooner rather than later, when circumstances can be arranged for it to be.