Under Construction

In Tasmania both Noi and I commented at different times on the pleasant lack of building sites. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of houses we saw either being built or renovated. In contrast, arriving at Southern Cross off the bus from the airport here in Melbourne we were confronted by a substantial area under construction. And now looking down from the windows of our very pleasant apartment we are witness to another one.

I'm afraid I have to say it: Melbourne, or at least the bit we are in, is an impressively ugly city. Or possibly, it's simply that arriving from a place that has been built on a human scale, the New Brutality of the modern city is more apparent than usual. I suppose we'll get used to it again.

Still Chilling

It was very cold up Mount Wellington this morning despite it being a hot day in Hobart. But this didn't deter the Missus and various accomplices from having a thoroughly good time at the pinnacle. Splendid photo opportunities are not to be sniffed at, no matter what the temperature.

Next stop Melbourne. Now packing in a relaxed sort of fashion.

Blocked

It's Summer here, I'm told, but the weather is more reminiscent of a cool English Spring. This may have contributed to the runny nose from which I've been suffering for the last four days. Despite the chill I'm applying strong sun block every day, though. When the sun comes out it's fierce and I know I'd burn without protection.

Years ago, as a child, the application of what we called sun tan lotion was something of an ordeal. The stuff was essentially liquid, took forever to soak in, smelt strongly, and got all over your clothes. The stuff I'm applying now goes on easily, seems to disappear in a couple of minutes and leaves clothes untouched. Of course, the ordeal of the past was part of summer and something I now miss, in a sense - but a very limited sense indeed.

Small World

We're now in Hobart having travelled from Launceston via Strahan on the west coast over the last couple of days. I've had one or two Wordsworthian moments in the process, especially at Cradle Mountain. We didn't actually climb it, but just looking up from Lake Dove was enough. The problem with such moments is that you can't be sure they're your own rather than Wordsworth's, of course.

There are a lot of dead trees here, one of the features that reminds you you're not traversing an English landscape. I think they are the product of bush fires. Remarkably a fair number might look dead but seem to be showing signs of growth, sprouting bits of green in unlikely places.

No stone cottages or thatched roofs here. Most roofs seem to be made of some kind of corrugated metal but manage to look quite attractive despite this. In fact, generally the houses are highly attractive: the vast majority just comprise a single storey, many are wood-clad and are small and tidy, just as Dickens liked his women to be. (Small and tidy, not clad with wood.) I think he would have approved.

Kids' Stuff

We are having no problems at all keeping the troops amused over here in the land of Oz. Tasmania is distinctly kid-friendly in terms of its tourist attractions. Or perhaps I should more accurately say teenager-friendly now that most of the troops have achieved a certain level of seniority. In fact, our team is now strikingly independent and sometimes more obviously worldly-wise than either Noi or myself. It's certainly not my good offices that mean we get on-line here, except for the attendant opening of the wallet.

Today we found out pretty much everything lavender oil can be used for on a visit to a lavender farm. I never knew such places existed, but if they're all as easy on the eye as this one then they must be a good thing. Can't say I think much of lavender tea though. Then it was on to Cataract Gorge for more dazzling scenery. And finally fish and chips on the sea front, whilst admiring the boats in the harbour. Mind you nothing yet has been quite as good as Tasmazia, a very funky spot we visited on our first day. It's a complex of hedge mazes in the middle of nowhere (of which there's quite an abundance here), one based on the Hampton Court maze, and home to a miniature village named Lower Crackpot. It sounds whimsical in the worst way but turned out to be genuinely charming, eccentric, original and quirky. Above all, astonishingly non-corporate: proof that humour and tourism can mix.

A Big Country

A day spent plucking strawberries is a day that can never be considered wasted. And when you've driven through the most beautiful countryside to get there you can double that sentiment. Tasmania's landscape seems uncannily English at times, but subtly different in ways that are definite but difficult to pin down. More roadkill for instance.

Lots of big people here, and I don't really mean that in a good way. Sometimes too much of the good life can be more than enough.

A Safe Place

We were a small part of the celebration today for Sharifah and Hamza's daughter's graduation from her Masters course here in Launceston. On such an occasion, in the midst of lots of highly promising young people taking pause before plunging into futures that one prays will see the fruition of that promise, it was difficult to feel anything other than gently optimistic.

And then home to news of the killing of twenty children at their primary school in the States on a routine Friday morning, just days before the excitement of Christmas for them. The Australian commentators to a man, and woman, expressed bewilderment at the easy availability of guns in that benighted nation and wondered whether this appalling massacre would be the one to change things. With pessimistic confidence I'm afraid I'd have to say it won't.

It seems to me that our first and most important duty is to try and provide a world in which we can keep things ordinary enough for ordinary happiness to manifest itself in.

From Down Under

Now happily resident in Tasmania, the very pleasant town of Launceston actually. Birdsong plentiful. Noi drinking Coke Light on the balcony, the variety that comes without caffeine. Why is this unavailable in Singapore and Malaysia one wonders, though not particularly deeply. The girls downloading various pictures of the day's adventures onto various of the devices now so necessary to our lives.

Viewed two films, and stayed awake through both, on the flight over - a record for me. Felt conflicted as I watched The Queen with regard to exactly how much I despise the royal family: with rabid intensity, or just a lot. Was possibly even more firmly republican by the end than when I started, though I assume the film-makers were not counting on such an effect. Felt less conflicted when watching Good Night and Good Luck about the American reporter Ed Murrow and his stand against the egregious Joseph McCarthy, just saddened with regard to the accuracy of the critique of the influence of commercial considerations upon broadcast journalism.

Reading a lot of poetry here. It goes well with our surroundings. Have not read a newspaper for days.

Painful Viewing

When I really should have been organising myself for our trip to the land down under I found myself watching the excellent Inside Job, a documentary narrated by Matt Damon on the culpability of the various players in the financial collapse of 2008. Nothing terribly new here, but it was fun and darkly illuminating to be reminded of the appalling greed and hubris of the brightest and best that America has to offer. Mind you, I must admit to being a little surprised by the complete lack of any accountability regarding conflicts of interest of various academics being paid big bucks by the major financial institutions. There's a lovely moment when some bigwig economic chap from Columbia realises to his horror that he's backing himself into an impossible corner regarding his connections with big business. The rather thin sheen of charm and reasonableness suddenly gets pushed aside and for a moment you see the twerp as he really is. Instructive. I wonder what his students think of him?

Simply Checking In

Have just spent over an hour attempting an on-line check-in with Qantas. Why so long? Their system refuses to accept any of the versions I have come up for the names of my good wife and three nieces. It has no problem with my name, which is a simple 'western' name. However, the other four names I need to key in for simple verification are Malay names which, in case you didn't know, don't follow the formula of 'given name - middle name - family name' quite so straightforwardly. Clearly somehow or other this has escaped the attention of the airline since this the only formula their website will allow.

Wouldn't you think that someone employed by an airline that obviously is highly likely to carry lots of passengers with different ways of forming their names would have had the wit to devise a system that allows a variety of ways of keying-in a name so as to represent the actual names of their passengers correctly?