Silky Oak Tree

I haven’t neglected my blog, but I simply ran out of interesting things to share about Oz. Today I found one, the silky oak tree, and thus my return to posting for you. Soon I’ll be going to Perth and that should give me lots of material for the blog. The silky-oak tree (Grevillea robusta) is the largest plant of the grevillea genus. I love its dark yellow, almost rusty orange hermaphrodite flowers that embellish the tree in late spring-summer. They look like large brushes with curly hairs, are loaded with nectar, and buzz with busy bees. The leaves are also beautiful, lacy and of a dusty green. I guess the first part of the name comes from the silky wood that is used for furniture making and in construction. Yet, why it’s called “oak” when it belongs to the grevillea genus, I don’t have the slightest idea. This tree can reach 30 meters in height, but its shocking similarity to the low grevillea plants turns it into a giant exception of the plant world. At least in my eyes, delighted to admire this unique Australian beauty.

Socially Awkward?

Ever since I moved to Melbourne I am trying to figure out if Melbournians are cold, filled with an almost royal chill, but every time I conclude that I meet someone exceptionally nice and I brush off this idea, even accusing myself of having misconceptions. The fact that I made many good friends in this city strikes me as the ultimate proof that Melbournians are actually nice. However, among them, and is not so different in other places, are some truly socially awkward individuals re-enforcing ridiculous social rules. What’s very sad is that such rules every day, and this is ran under a state government initiative. It’s extremely helpful for working parents like us and it’s not expensive. My daughter, being the only child, always loved little kids and asked for a little brother or sister. This never happened, but she plays with small kids at school and is very nice and gentle with them. They are the brothers and sisters she never had… Well, until yesterday, when the after-school teachers told my daughter and the little girl she played with for a long time, that they are not allowed to play together anymore because they have to make friends of their own age. The ridiculous rule hurt both kids and can only explain the socially awkwardness behind some of the grown-ups I have seen occasionally. Yes, I will talk with the personnel caring for the kids, but I am offended I even have to bring up the subject. The situation throws me back in time, about 100 years ago, in the Aussie or British orphanages I dread even reading about, because of the cruelty the carers imposed on small children.

Running Around, Asleep or Awake

I am in the Arkaroola Village, a very remote place in the Flinders Ranges. A $65 a night room feels like a shoebox with two beds and a shower, no soap, TV set, fridge or any other luxuries. You walk in straight from the parking lot, and the room windows are big holes that barely separate you from the street through a cellophane-thick sheet of glass. It’s a place where you have to arrive exhausted, crash into bed, sleep and then go the following morning… Spiders hang in observation, strategically, from two opposite corners of the room. They are watching me, the old furniture reflected in the dark brown linoleum, or the warning signs of a mouse plague hanging on the wall? The covers, a rodent grey shade, are lighter than the sheets, and I can almost distinguish footprints on them. I pray the sheets are clean and at no moment of the night I touch the covers. I smell disinfectant, old poison and spider feet, then I fall asleep. I dream that I am not in Arkaroola, where I just enjoyed seeing the stars like light bulbs through the heavy lens of the Arkaroola Observatory. I am back in Melbourne, watching a pink and purple sunset with boats, crystal waters and a sweet flavored breeze. I am walking alongside St. Kilda Beach thinking of how I got there and how easy I hover, asleep or awake, among all these places I’ve seen in my life.

How close can you come with nature?

This is an encounter that took place in a park, but it’s very typical to have very close friendly encounters with wildlife in this country. It’s also possible to have extremely unfriendly encounters, such as those with sharks, crocs and venomous snakes, but I’ve already talked about our scary encounter with a brown snake in a river in the Northern Territory... So the encounter with a koala taking a stroll, relaxing, posing, or just interacting with us happened in the Koala Conservation Centre in Phillip Island. The walkway literally takes visitors through the gum trees in which live the koalas. I believe the animals are almost domesticated, because with so many visitors, they just climb down onto the suspended walkway. I do not have a picture for another friendly encounter, but while walking on a street in Sydney, very close to the centre, a crimson rosella landed on my head. It didn’t peck or anything, but I am sure it was a bird used to getting food from people, so just tried to see what it could get from me. I almost felt guilty for not stocking up on food for it, but I had nothing to offer, so the rosella flew off afterwards… Kangaroos and wallabies often lie down or graze close to the walkways of national parks and as long as you don’t approach them, they continue their activities while keeping an eye on you. This richness and the closeness with wildlife are unique to Australia and deeply touch my heart.

Another Personal Post (The Poetry of Moving)

So how does it feel to change countries? Not once, but twice. Does it matter what countries? A lot. Changing countries is like going through an earthquake so strong, it remodels the landscape, it shakes your deepest nerves, and the aftershocks of all kinds stay with you for a very long time. When I say remodeling the landscape I’m thinking of ten kinds of parrots eating birdseed every day in front of your window. I am also thinking of the week-ends when you lay down on a gorgeous beach where only a few other people and kangaroos visit. The hurricane that became a cyclone, the spelling of mom that changed to mum. How the move shakes your deepest nerves is by emailing every day the friends and family left behind, far, far away, just to maintain an illusory closeness, by driving on the wrong side of the street and through roundabouts, and by relearning the school system, the healthcare system and internet access. Aftershocks? They are the moments you go visit the other countries and meet a much older mother than only two years ago, or the moments you visit another country and feel like you never left those places because even when you are far, far away, you’re still reliving them in your mind almost every day. But the wind blows in your life and you get carried away like the fluff of a dandelion, you change countries again because you are curious to live there, or you got a better job, or you just cannot stop changing countries anymore… You plant a passion fruit, a hydrangea, a grevillea, and a lily-of-the-valley, and as much as you love them, they are the only things related to you that grow roots. Together with the new friends that you made and you cannot take with you if you move again…

Melbourne Cup

Melbournians call it “the race that stops a nation,” and the definition is very close to the truth. I have a day off, so I do no work whereas the horses do it all. The first Tuesday in November, every year since 1861, is the biggest sporting, social and cultural event in Australia, the Melbourne Cup. The event revolves around the horse races, but it has a social side, a fashion-loaded aura and a typical Aussie flavor. People celebrate summer, have a picnic, and again, they relax… Not to forget the betting and the drinking. Phew… I recommend you never look at the after-race pictures, because so many people waste themselves and trash the Flemington grounds that photographers capture this after show with dark enthusiasm. The things I like about this event are to watch the hats and fascinators and the big race. I also appreciate the beauty of the venue, Flemington Racecourse in Melbourne, and its British elegance, especially because the track is a superb green lawn, not a dirt track like in Santa Anita, California (the only other horse race I have ever watched). I attached a picture of a different kind of horse, which will calmly continue to graze today and sweetly posed for me somewhere in the Yarra Valley.

Hard Work (!?!)

Here are three stories from my daily life in Oz. Story #1. Months ago a storm knocked down a part of our fence. It is an old fence. Our landlord didn't rush to fix it or to replace the broken area of the fence, but eventually, he had to. This past Tuesday, someone dropped off timber for a new fence in front of the yard. They just threw it carelessly on the lawn next to the footpath. On Wednesday, someone came and removed the old fence. On Thursday, nobody came because there were showers in the morning. On Friday morning at 7AM someone came and cut some vegetation that was obstructing the fence building in the back. They threw tree branches and trunks over the lawn, as if they hated my garden, knocking off some of our plants. I don't know... Are they waiting for me to clean the mess? If its their job and I'm just the tenant, why should I clean up? Story #2. I went to one of the few Post Offices open on a Saturday morning. The line extended outside, and two people in front of me were sipping coffee calmly. I read lots of Jamie Oliver recipes from his latest book, which The Post (that's what they call the Post Office here) sells for $50 ($27 on Amazon.com). This line is common sight on a Saturday morning, because the Post is open only from 9 to 5 during the week and most are closed on week-ends. Story #3. The real state company that manages our property for its actual owner is supposed to fix everything around our house (rental). For the last three weeks I emailed and called once a week asking them to do number of jobs, all common sense, such a trimming the trees that are growing over the Hills Hoist, repair the light fixture that cannot hold light bulbs in one bathroom, etc, but they don't respond to my emails and when I call, they rush to hang up on me as soon as they hear that I have PROBLEMS. What do all these stories have in common? I am guessing the lack of desire to work hard. And much more... Unrelated, but a favorite of mine, today's picture shows an Australian eagle. Tiziano took the picture in the Flinders Ranges, when we didn't know where to look first, at the magnificent landscape or the surprises in the sky...