Naughty Australian Islands

So I was looking up a small town in Western Australia for some reason, when certain risqué island names caught my eye (above, click to embiggen). Lonely sailors must have named the place.

Henry Holmes died in a horse race

Henry W.V. Holmes' tombstone in Adelaide's West Terrace Cemetery
Open picture in new window to enlarge.

Occasionally, I have the macabre hobby of walking through cemeteries (developed when I had to take shortcuts through Colma). I look to look at the tombstones and wonder a bit about peoples' lives. I think it's nice to be remembered long after you're gone.

When I was in Australia a while back, I disembarked from the train at Adelaide's Keswick Station for a brief tour about town. Next to the train station is the opulent West Terrace Cemetery.

While there, I saw this particular tombstone, and I don't know what struck me more: That Henry Holmes died at about the same age as I am, that he died riding in a local horse race (a hurdle race, at that), that his tombstone was in danger of falling over, or that his wife's name appears to be misspelled. (Update, per comments: the name was spelled correctly, but the metal letters fell off.)

(On the side of the tombstone is even something more somber: the birth and death dates of two Holmes children who died in infancy. What a tragic family.)

But Henry's ghost can take solace in the fact that he's remembered a century later -- his marker is at the front of the cemetery and can be seen easily from the nearby sidewalk.

No word on Kanmantoo's fate.

GAO: Eliminate dollar bills in favor of dollar coins, save more than $5 billion

If not for gold dollars, Millard Fillmore would be under-representated on US currency.

I love my Congresswoman, Jackie Speier. She’s never backed down on a fight, despite having been shot five times for her political work. She’s been a strong representative for my community (including its transit issues) on the local, state and national level.

But I think she’s on the wrong side of one of the latest fights she’s taken on. Speier announced over the summer that she would introduce a bill to kill the dollar coin program.

Dollar coins? Yes, the United States has dollar coins. You don’t see them much, unless you actively seek them out or buy some straight from the mint, but they’re there.

And there should be more of them. The non-partisan Governmental Accounting Office recently issued a report that stated swapping dollar coins for bills could save the US Government $5.5 BILLION.

Annual savings to US government by replacing dollar bills with coins.

The United States recently got a few million more dollar coins into circulation by doing two things: starting the Presidential Dollar Coin Program, in which every dead president gets his own coin (hence my Millard Fillmore coin); and introducing a direct ship program to the public.

The problem with the latter deal was that frequent fliers got word of the program, buying literally nearly a billion dollars worth of coins in order to get miles or points, then depositing them right back into the bank. The government recently discontinued the direct-ship program because of “ongoing activity by individuals purchasing $1 coins with credit cards, accumulating frequent flyer miles, and then returning coins to local banks. Local banks, in turn, returned coins to the Federal Reserve. While not illegal, this activity was a clear abuse and misuse of the program.”

The result was more than $1 billion of dollar coins stuck in the Federal Reserve, raising the ire of Speier and resulting in her bill. (Disclaimer: I bought about $20,000 worth of dollar coins through the program, accumulating miles, but I also spent about $5,000. The coins are great for everything from bus fare to tips to Tooth Fairy Money for dentally challenged seven-year-olds.)

So let’s look at the numbers. The average cost to print a dollar bill was about 9.6 cents in 2010. The cost to make a dollar coin was about 30 cents – but as coins last about 20 times longer (40 years, versus two years for the “paper,” actually cotton/linen, dollar), the US would save millions in the medium-to-long term.

Let’s also look at some of the most-traded worldwide currencies. None of them print anything nearly as worthless as the US dollar:

Country/region -- Currency -- Lowest denom. bill -- Value in US $*
Europe -- Euro -- €5 -- $6.71
United Kingdom -- Pound -- £5 -- $7.70
Australia -- Aus. Dollar -- $AUD 5 -- $4.85
Canada -- Can. Dollar -- $CAD 5 -- $4.85
Mexico -- Peso -- Mex$20 -- $1.42
* As of Sept. 23, 2011

The U.S. government’s huge mistake, of course, is to continue printing $1 bills while producing dollar coins. Canada, Australia and the UK introduced coins of similar value into circulation by replacing the corresponding notes, eventually leaving the public with no alternative but the coin (the Euro has never had anything less than a €5 bill). That is what needs to happen here.

Freshman Congressman David Schweikert (R-Ariz.) has introduced what he calls the COINS Act, which would replace dollar bills with dollar coins. Is Schweikert’s bill going to go anywhere? Probably not, but it’s a start.

I love dollar coins, but with the direct ship over the Internet program ended, I’m running short on Tooth Fairy money. Luckily the kid says he doesn’t have any loose teeth.

'You're terrible, Muriel'

I watched "Muriel's Wedding" earlier this morning for the umpteenth time (but for the first time all the way through since my visit to Australia) and just noticed some peculiar anachronisms.

(Spoiler space for a 17-year-old film:)









The most glaring anachronism is at the beginning of the film, when Muriel receives a blank check (or cheque, since we're talking about Australia) from her mom with a date in January 1994. When she pays back her father, however, near the end, the cheque (below) is dated from November 1992!

The second "when the heck did this happen?" moment involves a key plot point -- when Muriel marries a South African swimmer who can't compete for his home country because of international sanctions. The swimmer needs to marry an Australian so he can gain citizenship and can compete internationally. Yet Apartheid was effectively over, however, when the film was released (in September 1994). In fact, South Africa had already had free and fair elections, resulting in Nelson Mandela's presidency. To top it off, the movie mentions a South African "civil war" that never happened.

Fact of the matter, South Africa had already been reinstated in international sporting, as seen in "Invictus," and had competed at the 1992 Olympics. You might say that "maybe the film is supposed to be set earlier," with the cheque dates as inconsequential, but the movie does mention the 1992 Olympic gold medal won by Aussie Kieren Perkins.

Despite its time-travel foibles, I still enjoy Muriel's Wedding It's a fun, musical and ultimately uplifting flick -- albeit one apparently set in a parallel universe.

"Goodbye Porpoise Spit!"

Cricket is an evil sport

Like many cities, Perth offers special bus service to major sporting events. When I was last there, there was a club cricket match at the local oval. Why do I think cricket is evil (despite loving Lagaan)? Check out the special service route number on the bus.

Unfortunate political namesakes

Sorry to do two posts in a row on Australia, but the following headline was too good not to comment on:
Now you just know that the Sydney Morning Herald was waiting for former Australian treasurer Peter Costello to have some sort of conflict with Liberal Party Leader Tony Abbott so they could run some variation of the headline above.

Remind you of anybody?:
(Are Abbott and Costello well-known in Oz?)

The "shocking" fall of Peter Garrett and how it symbolizes the political process

When in Canberra a few months ago, I posted a brief note here about how interesting I found it that former Midnight Oil frontman Peter Garrett (right) was Australia's minister of culture and the environment.

Garrett, and the Oils (my second-favorite Aussie band, and the one whose music holds up the best) as a whole, have long been known for their activism. Their 1988 single "Beds Are Burning," highlighting White Australia's mistreatment of its Aboriginal peoples, is perhaps the most-famous example. Garrett was elected to Parliament in 2004 and become a minister when the Labor party came to power a few years later. Now Garrett finds himself in significant political hot water, and how the press and public have turned against him is an interesting case study about what the public expects from its leadership.

Part of Garrett's portfolio included supervision over federal energy conservation measures, and that included supporting a home insulation program. As most of us know, proper insulation can lower energy costs by keeping the insulated building either hotter or cooler, as desired. Thousands of Australian homes received insulation in their attics as part of this program -- insulation that was coated in metal.

That insulation has directly resulted in the deaths of four workers, either through electrocution or heat stroke, and has been implicated in about 90 house fires (the metal has in some cases contacted electrical wires, causing short circuits). As word got around about the program's poor safety record, pressure on Garrett steadily increased, with calls for his resignation being heard far and wide. Eventually, Prime Minister Kevin Rudd demoted Garrett, stripping him of his energy duties.

This was an interesting case for me. How far up the ladder should someone fall on their sword in such a debacle? Did Garrett know about the safety problems beforehand? Apparently not. Does he have a background as an electrician? No.

A recent experience with the South San Francisco Housing Authority showed me that the public expects its officials (elected or otherwise) to be able to micromanage all the way down the food chain. Sometimes that's quite simply not possible.

Take the example of the SSF HA. Of the board members, two are retired from non-technical backgrounds, two (including myself) are college/university students and two are "resident" commissioners, who live in the authority (not to cast any dispersions, but one has to be low-income to live in the complex, so it's unlikely they have expertise in municipal finance). Those might not be the best backgrounds for the kind of work we do, but I don't consider us unqualified -- we truly are representatives of the general public, regular Joes who are trying to serve the community. For technical matters, including contracting and finance, we have to rely on the expertise of paid staff.

So it is with Garrett as well. He certainly has the background for the "cultural" part of his ministry. But like us has to rely on the experts' opinions on technical matters beyond his background. His consultants with expertise should have known better and warned him of the dangers, and should face discipline. Should Garrett?

I don't have a good answer. In my case, I'd certainly be a better commissioner if I had a background in contracting or even painting (my MPA will hopefully help address at least the former). But one beauty of America (and Australia, for that matter) is that credit is due to concerned individuals who do their best while others sit and complain when things don't go their way.

It happened to us, and it happened to Garrett.

Closing the books on Australia

Left: The Australian dollar dipped as low as 62 cents (US) while I was on my trip. It is currently at about 84 cents.

I recently did the math about how much November's Australia trip cost, and I was surprisingly close on my early estimates.

The verdict? My Australian sojourn cost me exactly $4,419.56 -- about 10 percent over budget, but not unreasonably so. That breaks down to $3,845.94 on credit cards, $546.73 in cash and $26.89 in fees paid out of my bank account. (All figures in US dollars).

That does not include: a couple hundred dollars worth of new clothes, accessories and hiking boots given to me as birthday gifts just prior to my trip; the fact that I spent about $2,000 on nasal surgery and follow up immediately before my trip, partially so I would be comfortable on it; two weeks of unpaid time off work during and after my trip; and the opportunity costs of buying everything on my United miles credit card to earn enough miles to take the trip in business class.

It was totally worth it, by the way.

Don't miss the train

The Ghan is Australia's main north-south train, but you want to ride INSIDE it.

When I was in Australia last November, I was very excited to take the country's premier long-distance trains, the Indian Pacific and the Ghan and chronicled my journey here in my blog.

The journeys were fabulous, despite my sitting up in my seat for up to three nights at a time, and a great way to see the Outback without necessarily roughing it. I particularly liked the short whistle stops, but made sure as heck I was back at the train on time -- I didn't want to get stranded in the middle of some Outback town without my luggage -- so I made every effort to get back on that train.

I'm not sure I would have gone the route of Chad Vance, however. According to the BBC, Vance, a fellow American who took the Ghan, found the train pulling away after a stop in Port Augusta -- without him on it. Vance, 19, ran after the train, banged on the door and windows without response, then hung onto a stairwell for about two-and-a-half hours as the train sped through the Outback at about 70 mph.

Speaking of his May 28 journey in the Adelaide Advertiser, Vance said, "I was worried I wasn't going to survive. If I'd fallen off at that speed and hit the nasty-looking rocks below, I don't think I would have made it."

After hours of exposure from the wind and cold, Vance's lips were blue according to the conductor who finally noticed him and pulled the train's emergency brake.

I was extremely paranoid about being left behind when I rode Great Southern Railway's trains in Australia. When I was in Broken Hill, for example, I carefully noted the time the train was to depart and timed my walk so I would be back at the train 15 minutes before scheduled departure time, just to be safe. When I was in Kalgoorlie, I got back 45 minutes early -- both because the town shuts down early and I wanted to blog from the train station.

After reading Vance's story, I'm glad I did.

2008 events of note

Time is winding down on this year and while I don't have the time or mental stamina to put together a comprehensive list, here are my personal top seven events/stories of 2008:

7. Burgeoning pop cultural awareness. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet and having a lonely desk job, I was able to expand my horizons -- watching new TV (I became a Doctor Who fan 40 years after the fact), movies and listening to new music. I'm not a cultural shut-in anymore.

6. The 2008 Baker Bash in San Diego. An excuse to celebrate my grandfather's 80th birthday, but also a chance to reconnect with family I hadn't seen in a decade and an opportunity for them to meet Ian.

5. Rob Roy's visit (late October). I haven't had much contact with my old, pre-Bay Area friends in a while. Rob's trip out here showed that friendships could continue without missing a beat.

4. Laura and Krista's wedding (June 28). A vindication of my belief that intelligent adults should be able to make their own decisions. Plus it was a nice road trip with Claire.

3. Suffering rejection (April, June, December). Not getting a couple coveted job offers (with the Dept. of State in the spring and the City of San Francisco in the summer) were low points, but hopefully they'll help refocus my future. Not getting into grad school on my first attempt hurt, but it gives me time to reflect.

2. Nasal Polyp surgery (Oct. 10). A relatively minor proceedure, but one that has greatly improved my quality of life -- I didn't know how bad I needed surgery until after I got it.

1. Australia trip (November). A great voyage that took in my loves of travel and history and gave me a deserved break from chaos.

Needless to say, I'm pleased

Say hello to my little friend!

If there was any doubt that I had readers of this blog, it was erased when today -- back at work for the first time in more than a month -- the first words from my co-workers (after a salutatory greeting) were "Did you get your iPhone back yet?"

And, thankfully, I could say "YES!"

The DHL deliveryman came to my door at about 2:30 p.m. on Monday with a package from Sydney. Inside was the little piece of technology that has led to such pain and joy the last two weeks, none the worse for wear. I had briefly, and perhaps insanely, worried that it wasn't my iPhone that was found in the Air New Zealand lounge, but rather some other unlucky traveler's. But as I opened the package and found my leather-covered iPhone with a picture of Ian and his cousin Ellie on the home page, I was ecstatic.

So special thanks to Linda Falardeau of Sydney, who -- based only on the recommendation that I was a friend of a friend -- trekked out to Kingsford-Smith International Airport*, found the United Airlines office, then took the time to go to a courier and ship my phone. And what reward did she want? Nothing, other than the costs of shipping the phone. Well, she's getting a shout out in this blog as well.

I thought foundly of her as I was checking my e-mail and watching an episode of Doctor Who on the bus ride home tonight.

* Speaking of Kingsford-Smith airport, I found out the other day that Charles Kingsford-Smith, the Australian aviation pioneer for whom the airport is named, was a great-uncle of Wayne Kingsford-Smith -- who was re-elected chair of SamTran's Citizen's Advisory Committee last week (over me).

Good news, bad news

I got a call about 7 p.m. tonight from the United Airlines representative for the Air New Zealand lounge, and it seems a cleaner found an iPhone in a black leather case under one of the chairs overnight! From all description, it appears my iPhone has been found! Thanks to my calling ahead and giving a "BOL" (A "be on the lookout" from my dispatch days), I may have just lucked out.

Now, here's the not so good part. The representative asked how I wanted to handle it. I suggested I send some money to have it shipped back to the States. "We can't ship. When are you coming back to Australia?" was the reply.

As much as I'd love to come back, it might have to wait -- especially since Ian is insisting that he come with me "next time."

So I've made inquiries with a friend in Adelaide, and she might know someone in Sydney who can help but she's waiting to hear from her. A happy ending may be in the cards, but we've still got a few pages to go in this book ...

Perfect, until the last 15 minutes

AIRBORNE BETWEEN NEW CALEDONIA AND THE SOLOMON ISLANDS — So the trip was spectacular, beyond my wildest expectations (alright, maybe not my wildest) and possibly one of the top-ten moments of my life.

Until it all came crashing down right before takeoff.

After getting to the airport and checking in with plenty of time, I retreated to the Air New Zealand lounge at the Sydney airport, enjoying free food and drink and taking advantage of the opportunity to charge my laptop and iPhone. They announced my flight was boarding and I hurriedly disconnected all the cables and packed things up. Maybe too hurriedly.

On the plane, I reached into my sweater pocket (my sweater was hanging loose) to switch my phone to “airplane mode” and to my horror, couldn’t find it. I quickly looked around my seat area, in my carry on bag and the bin. No joy. I paged the flight attendant to ask if she could call the lounge, but she regretfully told me they had already closed the doors and no communication was possible.

A more thorough check of my bag and belongings didn’t reveal any trace, so I’m therefore forced to conclude it was lost. Most likely it was in the lounge by the TV (where I unplugged it and thought I repacked it), but possibly also in the lounge bathroom. Either place gives me a decent chance to get it back, as the folks who work the lounge are professionals and those who patronize it are generally businesspeople who will hopefully be less desperate (and maybe a bit more understanding) than your average traveler.

Of course, if I lost it in the general pathway between the lounge and gate 60, all bets are off.

The worst part is the helplessness I feel right now. If they had been able to reach the lounge before we departed, we might have made that “golden hour” where the lounge staff could have checked for — and possibly found the phone. Alternatively, while I’m on the plane, I can’t do things I would otherwise do in this situation: call the phone or text it. Crap.

I can’t even check if my credit card’s purchase protection will reimburse me for the phone, or what the terms are. (I think it might have 30-day coverage, the phone is 36 days old).

I’ve fallen for the iPhone as much as one could fall for a small electronic device. I’ve used it to store docs, text my family, look at stars, find my way about town with its GPS, convert currency, etc. It’ll be horrible if I can’t get reunited with the iPhone and — what’s worse — I’m out beaucoup bucks. At least the phone’s password-protected, so no one can call around on it. But of course, that also means they can’t access the address book and contact me. Sigh.

And now that I’m in L.A., I can’t find a number for the Air New Zealand lounge and United Customer Service only works Monday through Friday. Arrggh!

Update: 4 p.m. (PST) SAN LUIS OBISPO, Calif. — I finally got in touch with the Sydney lounge, but ... the iPhone has NOT been turned in. :-( I left my contact details in case it was, but I'm not hopeful. They gave me a general number for the airport lost and found, but I'm sure that's a madhouse, and it's not open Sundays. Hrrm. I did try calling (no answer) and texting the phone (it should display a preview without password) but it's a longshot.

I can't find any details about my credit card's purchase protection plan, and I'm scanning my travel insurance plan to see if it can help. Otherwise, I might need to buy a new, UN-subsidized phone!

One last time from Oz

Goodbye Sydney, goodbye Australia!

SYDNEY -- This is my last night in Australia and my mind's in turmoil. I've half a mind to "miss" my flight tomorrow, use my rail pass (still good for five months) and head off to Perth or Alice Springs.

On the other hand, I miss Claire and Ian terribly. Maybe if I sent them plane tickets ...

Oh well, I guess I've got get back to work. Damn me for not retiring when I got to 35!

Save for yesterday's side trip to Canberra, I've been exploring Sydney the last couple days in an effort to expand my experiances beyond just the Opera House and Harbour Bridge (although I've spent time there each of the past few days as well). For example, Wednesday night I attended a show of "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: The Musical."

My one word review: "Faaa-bul-oussss!"

A scene from "Priscilla, the Musical." Apologies for the quality (or lack there of).

Manly-man I may be, I appreciate a little musical theater now and then and "Priscilla" did not disappoint. This wasn't some cheap, thrown-together production designed to remind tourists of one of the few Aussie films they remember. This was instead a well-acted, well-sung and well-danced polished, professional extravaganza, which expanded and updated the movie with new material (including good-natured Kylie Minogue and Bindi Irwin jokes)

Todd McKenney stole the show as Tick, finding a fine line between showing the character’s general acceptance of who he his now combined with worries about his past and what his son would think of him. Tony Sheldon also did well as Bernadette, but no one could take the role from Terence Stamp — whose fame from telling Superman to “Kneel before Zod” made his role in the “Priscilla” movie feel even more poignant.

But the highlight of the show for me was Bill Hunter, reprising his role from the film version. Hunter for a while seemed like he was in every Australian movie. Besides his Priscilla role, he was the father in "Muriel's Wedding," Barry Fife in "Strictly Ballroom" and the voice of the dentist in "Finding Nemo." He also has a role in Baz Luhrman’s upcoming “Australia.”

After my Canberra trip Thursday, I had a late (very late thanks to the air delay) at a restaurant at Circular Quay (which the locals pronounce “Circular Key”) with a nice view of the harbor and Harbour Bridge.

Friday, continuing with my manly theme I took a ferry to Manly Beach, a famous surfers’ beach on the north Pacific shore. While the water itself was closed due to “dangerous surf conditions” (it was indeed rolling), that didn’t stop me and numerous others from wading shin deep in the warm surf. A brief sunbathe (with lots of sunscreen) and a kangaroo burger later, I was back on the ferry to Sydney. Manly Beach.

I recommend a ferry ride to any Sydney visitors, with the Manly ferry being just $6.40 AUD (other ferries are cheaper) it’s the best way to get amazing views.

In the evening time, I took the bus to Sydney’s Kings Cross area, which probably has more restaurants per square meter along Oxford Street than anywhere on the planet. I eventually settled at an Italian place off Darlinghurst named “Fellini’s on Victoria.” My fettuccine gamberetti with a side of garlic bread was great!

Well, it’s now Saturday morning and my time in Sydney is sadly running down. I have some light packing left, have to score the Internet to finish some economics homework and actually have to drag my sorry butt to the airport. This has been a wonderful trip, both what I anticipated and needed, but it’s time to go.

Next, a 14-hour flight to Los Angeles, followed by an hour’s flight to San Luis Obispo, a short layover and then a short flight to San Francisco, then BART home.

Thanks to Australia for a great time and thanks to my readers for following, John.
Ah, Australia. I'll miss you.

Amusing Aussie Signage

As the trip winds down, there are a number of things about Australia that I could list as "amusing." One of the best visuals, however, is some of the funny signage I've seen about. Here's some examples:

Sydney, Nov. 1, 2008. Remind the tourists that cars come from different directions here, because we can't take their money if they're hit by a car coming from an unexpected direction.

Adelaide, Nov. 2. Four-and-a-half years later and we're still waiting.

Adelaide, Nov. 2. "Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?" To sell athletic gear in Australia! Funny because I doubt five people in Australia outside of visiting Americans could ID Joltin' Joe.

Cook, SA, Nov. 3. If's there any problem in this town, population 5, gather by the rock.

Perth, Nov. 5. Does the transit agency really think a window scratcher is going to understand the implicit irony?

Perth, Nov. 5. Of course, every bus but the one you want stops here.

Perth, Nov. 5. Barrack Street is modified in "honour" of the new president elect.

Perth, Nov. 6. When building namers working for the University of Western Australia got lazy ...


Albany, WA, Nov. 7. Just how low do these airplanes go that you can't stand on the highway?

Fremantle, WA, Nov. 8. A rail safety sign with a little bite.

Perth, Nov. 9. Let's hope somebody does something important so we can fill this spot on the train station platform with an interesting plaque.

(Right) Kings Canyon, NT, Nov. 13. An "only in central Australia" sign.

(Below left)Yulara, NT, Nov. 13. Matches don't cause fires, dickheads do (look at the label).

(Below right)Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, NT, Nov. 14. A sign wouldn't do in the States. You'd need to sign a triplicate waiver to make this climb in our sue-happy country.


Alice Springs, Nov. 14. You think a bar connected to a hostel would have more tourist-friendly signage.

Alice Springs, Nov, 16. This sounds more like a plea for litter.

Sydney, Nov. 20. Australians don't dream of White Christmases, they just hope not to roast.

A quickie in Canberra

Parliament House in Canberra.

CANBERRA — As I start this blog, from the gallery of the Australian House of Representatives (Parliament is not is session at the moment), I’m stricken by a number of things. My previously attested dislike of the Westminster System, for example.

But mostly, I’m stricken by the Australian parliament house’s lack of flair. Compared to the Capitol in Washington, or even Parliament Hill in Ottawa, Canberra in general and Parliament House in particular, seems a simplistic contrast to its fellow capitals. Aside from a few pictures of old PMs (I couldn’t find Harold Holt’s — it seems to have disappeared) and notable MPs, there are only a few static displays in the building commemorating Australia’s history. Granted, the Parliament House was only occupied within the past 20 years, so it’s not very surprising. (One thing that is surprising is that former Midnight Oil lead singer Peter Garrett, right, is Australia's culture minister! My high school friend Eric Russell could do a decent Peter Garrett impression.)

Washington and Ottawa (the other national capitals I’ve been to) owe a lot of their grandeur to past ages. The American Capitol brings back visions of Greco-Roman style, the Canadian Parliament reminds visitors of old London-town. Canberra — and the Parliament House in particular — seems to have started out new, with architecture that doesn’t remind one of anywhere else and perhaps suffers for it. (Right, the Australian House chamber.)

There is a place of genuine emotion in Canberra, the Australian War Memorial. I’ve previously noted the predominance of small war memorials in several towns, but the national memorial here in Canberra is a huge step above them. Not only is it an effective memorial, with the requisite marble, poppies and names of the honored dead, but it contains a great museum as well.

Australia lost a higher proportion of its fighting men to World War I than any other nation, even France. It’s a common finding down here that the Australian identity was forged on the shores of Gallipoli and in the trenches of France, and the Australian War Memorial reflects the impact that the “Great War” had on the nation’s psyche.

Besides the requisite uniforms, letters, planes and guns common in all such museums, this museum added an effective extra: the diorama. Huge models of the Somme, Paschendale, Gallipoli and other major battles give a sense of the scale and drama that governed the conflict and adequately reflect the difficulties the “Diggers” faced. (Australia's "Tomb of the Unknown," left.)

I had hoped to do more than the two sites in Canberra, but I had to get back to the airport for my 5 p.m. flight. So I rushed to catch my bus to the airport (or rather near the airport, as Canberra’s Action Bus stops in a business park about a five-minute walk away). I got to the Virgin Blue counter and tried to check in, but couldn’t — my flight was canceled due to flow-control restrictions in Sydney.

Virgin booked my on the next flight, two hours later, so just a little problem there. I would’ve bused back to the city on my day-tripper pass, but the last public bus back to the airport area is at 4:35 p.m. for some reason! Oh well, Richard Branson’s crew gave me a $6 voucher to use in the airport café (not quite enough to buy a meal of course, but it was $6 more than any other airline would’ve given me) and at least there’s free wireless Internet here (hence my post …).

Now, I just need to wait and hope for good weather on Australia's east coast …

Update: 6:47 p.m. (Canberra time). My flight has just been pushed back another 15 minutes and Canberra airport is not a place to get stuck. One café with actual food (outside security) and not much to do at all. It's a good thing I don't have anything planned for tonight -- I had originally considered trying a get seats to a show tonight.
Looking back toward Parliament through the pillars of the Australian War Memorial.

Through the Red Centre, Part III

My Red Centre tour group.

The last time I arose at 4 a.m., it was 1989 and I was a poor student working at a McDonalds in La Crescenta, Calif., and needed to warm up the grill before the restaurant opened. Thus it was with some difficulty that I arose Saturday so we could see Uluru at sunrise. It was even more difficult as the rain had continued most of the night and I knew it was still cloudy.

An additional source of disappointment stemming from the clouds was the inability to see the stars. From the time I was 11 years old, I had always hoped to examine the southern skies, and seeing a whole new set of constellations that can’t be seen from the Northern Hemisphere (in fact, I had usually imagined seeing them from central Australia).

For example, I had hoped to see the Southern Cross — which features prominently in the Australian flag. I had also hoped to see the constellation Centaurus, which features Alpha Centauri, the closest star system to Earth.

But the clouds were being frustrating. Moreover, the moon was nearly full — spoiling the view in the few clear patches. Luckily, I had a clear night the week previous (although also partially spoiled by moonlight) on my drive from Albany and had seen the unseen-from-the-north bright star Canopus and had gotten a glimpse at the amusing site of seeing familiar constellations (specifically Orion and Taurus) upside-down.

While I never did get to see the Southern Cross, the clouds finally parted enough to give me a glimpse of Alpha Centauri — my favorite star since reading an old Isaac Asimov book in 1983.

After a quick brekky consisting of muesli flakes, we drove to the sunrise viewing area at Uluru and, thanks to the clouds, saw the sight of the dark blob of Uluru become the bright blob of Uluru. A bit deflated, we drove to the Rock itself, and began a foot trek halfway around.

As I wrote before, it’s difficult to gauge the enormity of Uluru from pictures. When you’re up close, the former Ayers Rock presents a much more massive profile than you might expect. While I hadn’t planned to climb Uluru, I was a bit gratified to see that the climb was closed that day because of the storms in the area (it apparently gets very slippy when wet), frustrating some of the rather insensitive European boys in the group who very much wanted to climb. Below: A detail of some of the cracks on Uluru.
There were a number of sites around Uluru’s perimeter where one could walk up to the rock and lay hands on it. A surprising number of gullies went down the side, but the rain had broken briefly and there was no water flowing down. We found some more Aboriginal art sites, a water hole and — in a rare concession to Aboriginal beliefs — a couple areas of the rock where photography was absolutely forbidden (left), and enforced by a $5,000 fine, because those areas were considered sacred by the Aborigines.

We spent a couple hours at Uluru, where the flies were taking advantage of the refreshing rain to jump on anything resembling a spring flower — such as my bright yellow shirt (below). The group then headed off to nearby Kata Tjuta, about a half-hour away.
Kata Tjuta, also known as “The Olgas,” is a group of ancient giant rocks that have been eroded over the past 300-plus million years into an undulating series of hikable canyons, valleys and gullies. My tour group took the five-mile hike into the famous “Valley of the Winds,” where a sudden crack just below the summits of adjoining peaks creates a wind tunnel, difficult hike and amazing views of the valley below.
Exhausted, we hiked back to the van, had a short lunch back at the campsite, then began the long haul home. Most everyone, worn down by the two hikes and early rising, slept on the drive. I only awoke when Natalie swerved the van to avoid a kangaroo nonchalantly hopping across the road and when we stopped at a roadhouse to refuel.

Knowing that our group mainly consisted of poor university-age students, Natalie suggested that the group dine for the night at Annies Place, a hostel in Alice Springs that had a built-in restaurant where the meals were only $5. Sounded good to us. Arriving back into town, we were dropped at our respective lodgings. I checked in at my hostel, showered then walked across town, figuring I didn’t know anyone else within hundreds of miles so I might as well join them.

The restaurant was cozy, but served good food for $5 (I had the fish and chips). The deco consisted mainly of classic Italian movie posters and front pages of newspapers (below), usually highlighting some misfortune that happened to a tourist in the area — shoes melting on Uluru, dying of horrible diseases and pleas to “Help Bring Back Virgin” (Virgin Blue Airlines). With beer and tequila flowing amply, I learned a bit about my fellow travelers.
For example, Kirsten, the Scottish girl, did her thesis on geese counting on the Isle of Islay. Patricio, the Italian, drove a big fast motorcycle back home, but had to sell it. Matteo (one of the Swiss boys) and “Heidi” (aka blonde German) were in the process of “hooking up” (if you know what I mean … but why was I the one who felt pressured to let her wear my Montréal Expos jacket because she had decided to wear a white tube top in the rain?), etc.

After finishing dinner, we walked up the street to Alice’s most hopping nightclub, Bojangles, which seemed to hold everyone in town between 18 and 35. After a brief misunderstanding at the bar (I ordered “a midi of VB [Victoria Bitter]” but somehow ended up with both a VB and a Carlton Mid), we settled in front of the dance floor for some conversation.

I found a pair of off-duty Aussie soldiers next to us and (no doubt sounding buzzed as I was) thanked them for “helping us with (stuff) we couldn’t finish ourselves.” “We’re all in it together, brother,” was the kind reply, accompanied by a number for a cab company.

Returning to my travelling companions (right, at Bojangles), I ended up spending a lot of time with the Irish contingent of our group and found out two things: they considered all non-Guinness brew inferior and apparently Irish people have a secret hand signal or something, because my new friends from Cork were briefly joined by an unknown fellow from Dublin.

With the hour getting late (almost 2 a.m.) and my needing to catch a train the next day, I excused myself and exchanged very friendly goodbyes with folks I had known for less than 72 hours and would likely never hear from again, despite the sharing of a couple e-mail addresses.

That led to the surreal moment I mentioned in Part I of this tale — walking home at 2 a.m. in a residential area of Alice Springs in a driving rainstorm after a night of clubbing (all parts of that being atypical behavior for me).

The next day, after taking pictures of the rain-swollen Todd River (bone dry for something like 360 days per year), I caught the train to Adelaide, met my Internet friend Helen and slept at another hostel before catching the train on Tuesday to Sydney, upon which conveyance I write this entry.Me at Kata Tjuta.

Meeting old friends for the first time

Rundle Mall, Adelaide (my current location).

ADELAIDE, South Australia (Nov. 18, 2008) — A few years back, I joined a mailing list connected to a web camera focused on Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada. The list brought folks together from all over the world. Though the official mailing list is now off line, a group of us continue to talk frequently off list. Taking advantage of my unique geographical circumstances Monday (Australia time), I scratched another I-Cammer off my "To-Meet" list as I had dinner with Helen Potiris and her family in Adelaide.

Helen (with Chris and Amelia in the back) picked me up in front of my hostel in downtown Adelaide at 6:30 p.m. sharp (Helen was coming back after picking up Chris at work) and drove me to their home in the southwestern suburbs where I also met Helen's dad, Jim, and Chris' brother Adrian.

Amelia's third birthday is coming up in about two weeks so I took the liberty of buying her a kid's digital camera along with a Snow White card (what little girl doesn't like princesses?) and I made the card out as being "From John on behalf of Mom's I-Cam friends." No one on the list minded my adding that part I trust. Amelia (left) is a real sweetheart, and although she regarded me with a wary eye at first she warmed up later in the evening and regaled me with tales of flowers, ponds and how their cat, Musket, had been sick as she played with her new camera.

Helen was making pasta for us all (along with an ambitious anti-pasta side plate) when we were all surprised by the unexpected visit of Chris' sister Hazel and her husband Harry from Perth -- making their first visit in several years. Needless to say it was quite busy in the Potiris/Goodhall household, but Helen handled it with the grace of an air traffic controller and no one felt left out.

Me with the Potiris/Goodhall family.

After dinner, the bulk of us went to the shore at Glenelg and took a nice walk, culminating in a trip to the ice cream parlor. I had something called Jaffa Orange, basically a chocolate-orange mix. Quite tasty. We retired back to the house for tea, put Amelia to sleep and spoke about the US southwest (among other topics) before we called it a night and Helen drove me back downtown.

Thanks again Helen for dinner and an overall wonderful time.

(Part III of through the Centre will post later from Sydney. I'm off to catch the train now for a 24-hour ride.)