I made a friend today. Her name is Oshaiya. Our acquaintance started in the hotel swimming pool. She was swimming while her mom sat by the side of the pool, often talking on her phone. Oshaiya had some toy weights that she would drop to the bottom and then retrieve. I asked if I could try to do it, so she dropped the weight, and I dove down to bring it up.

Eventually, I said, “Close your eyes and count to ten and I’ll hide it and you see if you can find it.” That game, which I’ve played with all four of my grandkids, continued on, taking turns, for most of the thirty minutes Judy had on her washing machine timer.

After a while, Oshaiya said, “What is your name? I forget.” We’d never exchanged names, but I said, “My name is Jon. What’s yours?”

She told me her name and after a few tries I could pronounce it (I didn’t have my hearing aids in).

“That’s a pretty name. I don’t know anyone called Oshaiya. How do you spell it?”

“Guess.”

“O-S-H-A” I guessed

“You need three more letters.”

Eventually, I gave up and she told me.

“How old are you?”

“Eight”

“Oh, my grandson is 10.”

“Actually I’m almost 10. I’m 9 and will turn 10 on December 31.”

I’m guessing 8 is closer to the truth. You know how kids can be.

But here was the real eye opener:

“Do you live in Australia?” I asked.

“No, I live in the Bush.”

“Is that in Australia?”

“No, it’s the Bush. Because of the color of my skin.”  pointed to her arm with what I took to be pride. I live in <something> Station. In the Bush.”

I didn’t get the <something> (no hearing aids, remember?) But a station is what we would call a cattle ranch. So I concluded that she lives somewhere in the center of Australia, that she’s a member of an indigenous group and that she’s proud of it. She also knows that she doesn’t live in Australia, and that’s not a defect in her understanding of geography but rather an awareness of her heritage.

“Our creek flooded.” “From the rain?” “Yes, from the rain.”

“I have an uncle who lives in Sydney. He has skin the same color as mine. He has a tattoo here,” pointing to her wrist.

What did I learn? That kids everywhere like to play the same games, regardless of national origin or ethnic heritage. And I learned that Oshaiya is being brought up to be proud of her heritage and to celebrate it without a hint of shame or defensiveness. Only, “you’re an old white guy and I’m from the Bush with my dark skin and we can have fun playing together.”

I was in the water for a long time, swimming underwater to play the game. That’s why my eyes are stinging right now, I am sure.

Sorry for the long recitation, but I wanted to get it down on paper while it was fresh in my mind. When someone asks, “What’s the best thing you did in Australia, I’ll have a ready answer.”

Today, otherwise, was a scenery day as we drove up into the Western MacDonnell Ranges west of Alice Springs. The Western MacDonnell Ranges is a series of mountain ridges formed 350 million years ago through I’d guess the same geological plate movement that created Uluru. Since then, folding, faulting and erosion have created a number of gaps and gorges. These are what we explored this morning. Some local guides claim 500 million years and that, back in the day, the MacDonnell Range was taller than present-day Himalayas. That makes a better story so I’m going with that one.

On our way to the gorges, we stopped just outside of town to see the Reverend John Flynn’s burial place – he’s the Royal Flying Doctor Service guy, remember? His image graces the 20-dollar Australian bill. He’s a big deal here.

First, we visited Simpson’s Gap and then Ormiston Gorge and the Eller Creek Big Hole. Then, on our way back toward town, we stopped for lunch at Standley Chasm. I’ll let the pictures show you what we saw: mountain peaks (the tallest are 5,000 foot-ish) and the same arid desert-like foreground similar to what we saw at Urulu. There were significant signs of brush fires almost everywhere. Our guide/driver told us that the fires occurred three weeks ago. The green grass has grown since then. The scrub trees will leaf out again later.

We had a chance to get out and walk at all three gorges. It’s hot again today – well over 100 but maybe a touch cooler than Uluru, or maybe I’m just getting used to it. The paths were well prepared and fairly flat, so not a huge challenge for most of us. We have, however, had two casualties so far: a lady tripped and fell and bruised her ribs yesterday going into the RFDS building yesterday. She spent the night in the hospital for tests and recovery. Then today her traveling companion tripped and hurt her arm. The guides put all of us in one bus (we’ve been traveling with two) and took her back for examination.

At Simpson’s Gap, climbing on a rocky section of the gap, big as life, were several wallabies. Yes, they look like small kangaroos but they are different. Finally, wildlife in the wild, not a zoo!

The Eller Creek Big Hole is a swimming hole. I was hesitant at first but quickly changed my mind and put on my swimming suit and enjoyed a delightful float in cool, refreshing water. See the pictures. Judy enjoyed a shady log while I swam.

The hike at Stadley Chasm was the longest – maybe a half mile – and the hottest. The guides wanted us there at noon since that’s the only time the sun shines down into the chasm. After, we had a nice cold buffet lunch.

I hate it when I do it, but I napped the 30-minute drive back to town. Just think of all the pictures I didn’t get to take!

One other cultural note. Several signs along the road pointing to Alice Springs and other destinations were defaced, the English words marked out, replaced by handwritten words. in, I presume, the language of the Arrernte people, the traditional owners of the Western MacDonnell. I asked the bus driver about that. “Well, these things take time,” was his response

Back at the hotel, Judy started a load of washing and then we went for the swim, described above. We’re off this evening for a “traditional bush dinner.” Given Oshaiya, I can’t wait to see what the tour company considers a bush dinner to be. Maybe I should invite Oshaiya.

We’re back from the bush dinner and it turned out to be a western show like you’d find out west in the US but with an Australian accent. You know, first the guy telling funny stories: “I’m going to make you some raisin-rum bread in a Dutch oven. The recipe calls for thirteen and a half mouthfuls of water and six and a half metric handfuls of flour. We’ll cook it over the embers at 362 degrees, metric or Fahrenheit, doesn’t matter.” Then a steak dinner followed by Katie, a pretty good country and western guitar player/singer, including audience participation. Remember Dancing Matilda? Did you know that it ends with the cowboy drowning himself in a billabong? Finally, a lights-out internal to observe the stars, including our old friend upside down Orion, with an electronically assisted Didgeridoo playing in the background.  A good time was had by all, and the bread, served as dessert, tasted fine.

But the best part of the evening was the bus ride to the show. We saw a half dozen or so of real life kangaroos in the wild, hopping around just like you’d imagine. One of our group says one of the ‘roos had a joey in her pouch.

Tomorrow it’s a noonish flight to Melbourne. No more Outback for us. It’s two of days of Melbourne, two days of Sydney and then home.

OK, so I didn’t get this posted before we left Alice Springs. We’re now in Melbourne. It took most of the day. The only flight was scheduled for 12:30 and left a half hour late. Traffic was bad in Melbourne and so we didn’t get to the hotel until 6 PM. The weather: rainy and cold. It didn’t break 70 today and after 100+ up north this is a pleasant relief.

We were on our own for dinner tonight so off we went in search of food. Turns out the Crown Metropol hotel is part of the Crown casino complex, and what a complex it is. In addition to the casino there’s a web of mall-like corridors with shops, restaurants, bars, you name it. We wandered through the casino, resisting the temptation to pull a lever or two, walked by one food court featuring KFC and another with upscale offerings. We ended iup at a medium-scale Chinese restaurant. The upscale Chinese restaurant we tried was fully book.

Everywhere was packed some ladies were dressed to the nines (the guys they were with looked like slobs), and there were families with kids and everything in between. We were undoubtably the oldest in the entire operation.

Melbourne is a big city. We’re doing a tour in the morning and have the afternoon to ourselves. One stop tomorrow is to the house where Captain Cook lived. It sure would be fun for him to come back and see this place today.

Judy’s been hard at work putting together videos. Here are the three latest.

Australian Zoo at Mooloolaba: https://judyrick.zenfolio.com/australia_videos/hc812bddb#hc812bddb

Newcastle and Sunrise at Sydney: https://judyrick.zenfolio.com/australia_videos/hc8d2f140#hc8d2f140

Townsville, Queensland: https://judyrick.zenfolio.com/australia_videos/hc956949b#hc956949b

You can see the gallery of all videos for this trip if you want to see the ones you missed. Here is that link:

https://judyrick.zenfolio.com/australia_videos

 

A slower day today, moving from Uluru to Alice Springs. Viking chartered a private flight with Airnorth. There are fifty-odd of us, so it makes sense financially to do it that way. We arrived at the airport, which was completely closed until after noon, by 8:00 AM. Our flight was scheduled for 9:15 AM but it was an hour late. The plane had to fly from Darwin, almost 1,200 miles, to pick us up for the 250-mile trip to Alice Springs.

The delay was, “No worries, mate,” because, arriving at the Doubletree hotel at noon meant we had two hours before our first outing. Our rooms weren’t ready so nothing to do but eat lunch and blog. Lunch, however, was limited to a Thai/Indian restaurant on the hotel property. Judy had chicken, I had lamb. Great food but more than we probably needed.

The first stop of the afternoon was at Alice’s ANZAC memorial on top of a hill overlooking the city. ANZAC, you may recall, stands for Australia New Zealand Army Corp, the combined outfit that fought together in Italy during WWI. ANZAC Day, April 25, and this memorial site now commemorate all who died in the service to Australia. New Zealand does the same. The memorial is very effective.

We learned two interesting facts about Alice Springs, population 25,000. First, it has a Supreme Court building (the glass building in the pictures). This is remarkable because it’s the Northern Territory’s second Supreme Court building. The first is in Darwin. The legal eagles figured it was cheaper to have a court in Alice so folks wouldn’t have to hike the 900 miles to Darwin to try a case. Second, we learned that in Australia, Burger King is called Hungry Jack’s. Copyright thing. All the signage looks just like home.

We drove next to the Royal Flying Doctor Service, RFDS. On the way we traversed the Stewart Highway, the one that runs from Darwin in the north to Adelaide in the south, 1,600 miles or thereabouts. We saw a statue of John McDouall Stewart who led the first expedition along the route in 1861.

The RFDS was started by Presbyterian minister Reverend John Flynn in 1928. The objective was simple: bring doctors to people in need in the sparsely populated areas of Australia. The service has grown with the advances in aviation from biplanes to jets over the years. Communication was another big challenge in the early days. How do you call the doctor if you don’t have phone service? Clifford Peal developed a pedal-powered radio that solved that problem, starting with Morse Code and moving eventually to voice radio communications.

Today RFDS provides a wide range of services in addition to its original acute care mission. Primary care, health promotion, mental health services, dental services, telehealth services and more. They have more than 900 patient contacts every day. They have 81 aircraft based at 23 centers across Australia. Last year they transported 36,951 patients by air and 58,839 by road.

There’s a PBS series available about the RFDS. I haven’t seen it but some on our trip have and say it’s very good.

Tomorrow promises to be a full day exploring the Outback, including a chance to swim in a swimming hole. We’re too far south for saltwater crocodiles, so maybe we’ll dip our toes into whatever body of water they offer.

Today was dedicated to the two “rocks” – Uluru and Kata Tjuṯa – literally from dawn until dark. Uluru gets all the publicity, but Kata Tjuṯa is equally interesting, if not more so.  I’ll let the pictures describe what we saw but the story behind the scenery is, as is often the case, the real story. Traveling around the world to see a rock sticking up out of the desert is hardly worth the effort. The real reason for coming is to discover the people and events behind the vista.

First, I failed to mention yesterday that we’re in the middle of a genuine desert. The shots I took from the plane yesterday show first the urban sprawl of Sydney, then the Blue Mountains that for the convict-era settlers were a significant barrier to the interior, followed immediately by the vast expanse of flat, arid land punctuated by the occasional salt flat. And here in the park we’re in the middle of that desert.

Fortunately for us, this area has received significant rain in recent weeks, resulting in the lush green growth that contrasts so nicely with the orange of the sand and rock formations. The rain storms brought lightning, which caused one or more brush fires. The Anangu fire department took care of them in quick order. My observation from the plane was that the greenery didn’t start until we were perhaps 30 minutes from Uluru.

Uluru and Kata Tjuṯa both are the result of sandstone created by the weight of oceans that covered this area 500 million years or so ago and that were thrust upward by tectonic plate motion. Uluru, luck of the draw, was tilted by almost 90 degrees, meaning that what was flat under water is now vertical. Kata Tjuṯa only shifted 20 degrees and so has a distinctly different shape. Both have eroded over the millennia to produce the shapes we see today. We’re told that only 10% of Uluru’s mass, like an iceberg, is above the surface. Uluru is about 1,100 feet high. Kata Tjuṯa is around 1,700 feet.

The rocks both contain feldspar and thus their native color is grey with a bluish tint. The orange color comes from iron in the rock that has oxidized to produce the rust color we see. A magnet held against the loose soil will attract orange sand particles.

And that lush, green grass that is so prevalent and that gives such lovely accent to the rocks? Sigh, a sad story lurks beneath the surface.

Until the Anangu were forcibly ejected from their homeland in the interest of tourism back in the 1960s, they practiced controlled burning in patches of ground, something that their ancestors have done, in their culture, since the beginning of time. The burn had two benefits: controlled burning created fire barriers and also drove game from the brush for capture. But with eviction, the controlled burning stopped and after 20 years or so, in the mid 1970s, sure enough lightning storms set off wildfires that burned 80 to 90 percent of the park area. That’s bad enough, but the park managers decided to replant the park with a non-native grass brought in from, I believe it was, South Africa. The Anangu could have told them, if asked, that the native grass would have survived the fire and regrown all by itself.

The new grass variety, it turns out, burns at a higher, more dangerous temperature. Now when the Anangu do controlled burns they have to pull the invasive grass but the seeds remain, so the new grass is here to stay.

Today, since Handback in 1985, the park is managed jointly by the Anangu and government rangers. Both traditional and modern techniques are used. With revenue sharing, the Anangu are able to maintain their traditional culture and language. I’m told that the Anangu languages – there are two main languages and many speak several more – are relatively healthy and are taught in schools and used at home.

The morning program started with a sunrise viewing at Urulu. That meant being on the bus by 4:45 AM to be on site for the 5:30 AM sunrise. Afterward, we went for a close-up view of Kata Tjuṯa. Then back to the hotel for breakfast and down time until 3:15 PM. The afternoon ride took us all the way around Uluru, ending in a sunset viewing, complete with wine, beer and canapés. Back to the hotel for a dinner-on-your-own and bed.

Of course, “Down time” has different meanings for different folks. Judy wanted to see an art exhibit around the circle beyond Town Hall. Temperature: a balmy 107, perfect for a half-mile walk in the sun. Judy’s brother Dave sent us a message responding to the temperature saying, “Act your age.”

The art exhibit was much like what we’ve been seeing since Darwin: aboriginal works that tell stories of the artists’ community and the rules passed down over the millennia from the creatures that created mankind and handed down the laws that govern their behavior today. In the north, the work was line-based and often abstract. Here, the art was dot paintings, scenes created by dots of paint that create a whole. Just like dots on a TV screen, but much larger. All were for sale, of course.

OK, visual art’s great, but I opted for the musical arts. Actually, I was drafted to participate in what turned out to be a thirty-minute lesson, outside but in the shade, learning to play the aboriginal instrument known as the Didgeridoo. It’s a long wooden hollow pipe that you blow in to create a sound, usually a single tone (our teacher’s was tuned to F) although some variation is possible. It’s mostly a rhythmic instrument. This guy sat down in a small open-air amphitheater and started playing. Pretty soon a half-dozen folks wandered in an sat down to listen. We joined them. He immediately distributed four smaller instruments to selected audience members, including me. He proceeded to give a very detailed lesson to us beginners – not just the first step, the first four or five steps.

It’s a difficult horn to blow. It involves the diaphragm, lungs, throat, tongue and lips acting in harmonious synchronization. It involves what he called breaststroke breathing and what others term circular breathing. Sound is produced whether you are breathing in or out and so never stops. The pitch of the sound changes as the air changes direction and so the breathing must be done in time to the beat of the music. Some aboriginal groups discourage female playing; it’s a man thing.

And no, playing the tuba sixty years ago in the Hillsdale High School marching band didn’t help me one bit.  As a travel experience, though, the Didgeridoo lesson beat taking a nap by a long shot.

But back to our tour around Uluru. We stopped for a hike up to the face of Uluru where we could actually touch the stone. We also saw two caves where Anangu people had etched images. Our guide said the drawings might go back 5,000 years. A placard at the cave reported that a man claimed to carved images here in the 1930s. Maybe both are correct. The walk was maybe a half mile in late afternoon sun, but still plenty warm.

Uluru was a popular climbing destination until 2018 when both Anangu and park rangers closed it down. Pollution was the big concern. Enormous amounts of trash had spoiled not only the surface of the rock, but the water table was being polluted to an unacceptable level. How hard was the climb? The number one trash item on Uluru was baby diapers (“nappies”). Batteries were right up there. On one of our walks a member of our group found a weather-worn plastic liter bottle, probably washed down from the top by passing rainstorms.

Some of the area at the base of Uluru are considered sacred to the Anangu. Why? Our guide didn’t know because the Anangu wouldn’t tell him. He is considered a neophyte and someone without advanced knowledge, learned over many years, cannot appreciate nor understand the higher levels of learning. We were asked to stop taking pictures as we drove for perhaps ten minutes along the road that circles Uluru’s base.

This sacred area is where the tour operators, after the Anangu had been evicted, built an airport to fly in tourists. And to keep the brush from growing up along the airstrip, they dumped diesel fuel, thereby polluting the ground water. That pollution is only now starting to dissipate.

Did we see any wild animals? Nope. And therein lies another story. Camels and camel drivers were imported to Australia in the 1860s to provide transportation across the desert. They were used in the construction of the Adelaide to Darwin telegraph line. At one point the Australian government, fearing an infestation, ordered camel owners to destroy what had become their pets. But instead, the camels were turned loose to live in the wild. Today, Australia has more camels, more than two million, than any country in the world. They have been exported to Saudi Arab.

Turns out, camels eat the fruit that Emus survive on. They also eat the roots of the plant. Result? Emus have had to move south to find food. No Emus at Uluru.

And how about Kangaroos? Polluted water supplies have driven them south too.

So, that’s what we learned about central Australia while taking in the beauty of the desert and Uluru. It’s hard to find anything good to say about British behavior in Australia: convict slavery and torture, aboriginal extermination, slavery from the Pacific islands, mismanagement of the lands. But then again, that list of sins applies equally well to other “civilized” nations include the good old U S of A. When will we ever learn?

The captain of the Orion was correct. Getting up to see our entrance into Sydney Harbor was worth it, especially considering that our arrival coincided with sunrise. You can look at the pictures to see what I mean.

By the way, our hotel when we return to Sydney in a week is right behind the big cruise ship moored at the Circular Quay.

The trip from the pier to the airport gave us a good, long glimpse of Sydney traffic. The route took us through mostly residential neighborhoods and some industrial areas. Our driver told us that no one can afford to live in the Central Business District. Everyone lives in the ‘burbs.

The airport is located on Botany Bay. That’s the location that Captain Phillips, commander of the squadron of 11 ships that transported the first convicts from England to New South Whales first landed. Contrary to the report from Captain Cook some eighty years prior, Phillips decided Botany Bay lacked the water and good soil needed to establish a colony. He is reported to have said, “Airport? Maybe someday. I’m taking the boys and girls to Sydney to live.”

The three-hour flight to Uluru was pleasant enough. Viking had put $15 in our onboard accounts, so we had quiches and a drink for lunch. We landed around 12:30 and went by bus to the Sails in the Desert hotel in the town of Yulara. We’re back in the Northern Territory, almost due south of Darwin. That means the time fell back 1.5 hours. The town itself consists of a huge traffic roundabout of perhaps a mile or two, encircling a large sand dune. Several hotels and a shopping area, the Town Square, are located on the periphery of the circle. Our five-star hotel has a pool and two restaurants.

Our rooms weren’t available until 3 PM so Judy and I walked down the road to the Town Square. Only problem: it was 104 degrees so the going was a bit tough. A couple from Arizona on our trip said, “What’s your problem? We have weather like this all the time.” Being the frugal types we are, we limited ourselves to the purchase of only two shirts each plus milk shakes. Hey, it’s supporting aboriginal communities, right?

The Ayers Rock Resort at Yulara owns and operates all of the businesses on the loop, including our hotel. It is owned and operated by Voyages Indigenous Tourism Australia, which in turn is owned by the Indigenous Land and Sea Corporation (ILSC). In other words, the Ayers Rock Resort does directly benefit the Anangu community, the local indigenous group here.

Ayers Rock Resort is the jumping off point for visitors to the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park where the iconic Uluru mountain is located.

The park itself is something of a success story for the Anangu people. When tourism started to take off in the 1960s, some tour operators pressured the government to remove Anangu people from the park entirely. This wrong was not righted until October 26, 1985, when the government returned ownership of the national park to the Anangu people. In return, the Anangu gave the government a 99-year lease to operate the park. Today, the park is jointly managed by the government and the Anangu. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, one of only four in the world jointly managed in this manner.

Because of the extreme heat, we had no activities until 7 PM. Judy and I did use that time for the aforementioned shopping spree, a dip in the swimming pool (cool and refreshing), finishing a blog post and of course a nap.

We were then driven to the park for an Australian-style barbecue. The meal was served outside, which was great since the temperature had dropped well below 90 and the flies that pester everyone during daylight hours had disappeared. The food included steak, chicken and kangaroo. Tastes just like you-know-what.

After dinner, we were treated to an astronomy lecture by a knowledgeable member of the tour group staff. I won’t bore you with all the constellations he identified (as if I could remember them all anyway). The one distinctive constellation was Orion, familiar to us all. The only difference is that Orion is pretty much upside down compared to what we see in the Northern Hemisphere. I’ve drawn a crude Orion on the picture so you can see what I mean. The Man in the Moon is similarly rotated from our accustomed view.

Tomorrow we’re going to get serious about seeing Uluru and the park.

Newcastle was, and still is, a coal town. Coal was used by aboriginal people for thousands of years. Soldiers taking convicts to the area found coal lying on the ground but underground coal mines have since been dug. Newcastle’s excellence ocean port solves the transport problem. And heavy industries such as steel making (now discontinued) have sprung up. 

What do Newcastilians do when not working the mines? They surf. Newcastle has beaches that attract world-class surfers. 

Lately, Newcastle has become a haven for folks who can’t afford the hyper inflated cost of living in Sydney, a two hour’s drive away. 

Coal isn’t going to be the engine of economic growth going forward and a gritty coal town isn’t going to attract new residents and tourists. So the local government is spending multiple billions of dollars to fix the place up. They ripped out the downtown railroad tracks and put in light rail. Lots of high rise condo, apartment and office buildings are springing up, modern brick, steel and glass just like Sydney. It’s becoming a good looking place to work, live and play. And as a cruise boat terminal and as a gateway to the Hunter Valley wine region, the nascent tourism business is looking up. 

Our plan for the day was to visit Newcastle’s museum in the morning on our own and then do a guided walking tour in the afternoon. The shuttle bus dropped us at the museum which, like virtually every museum on the planet, is closed on Mondays. Plan B, suggested by a nearby info booth guy: take the light rail to Fort Scratchley. An unfortunate name but the Brigadier General Scratchley who designed the fort looks in his portrait like a proper British officer. The fort, originally built in the late 1880s to defend against a perceived threat from Russia and was significantly expanded during WWII. 

Fort Scratchlely has the distinction of being the only Australian costal battery to return enemy fire in WWII. On June 8, 1942 a Japanese submarine fired several dozen rounds at the manufacturing facilities at the Newcastle dockyard. Scratchley’s six inchers fired four rounds, all missed, and the sub escaped. 

We met a volunteer at the gate (free admission). He asked, “How old do you think I am?” My guess was that he looked at least 90 so I said, “I don’t know. Eighty maybe?” “I’m 97,” he responded, chest pushing out slightly. “I grew up in Liverpool during the war and went to bed every night to the sound of German bombs. I was so happy because that meant no school the next day. And I’ve got a thousand stories like that. One time there was this girl in Malay . . . “ A coworker came over and we made our escapes after inviting him to visit us in Florida. He didn’t get the girl. A guy he met by random chance on the way to Malay knew the girl and said, “Stay away from my niece or else!”

We took the light rail back to the museum and the shuttle bus back to the ship for a quick rest before the walking tour.

The bus for the walking tour dropped us near the Lumber Yard where convicts once worked. Next, we walked to the old train station, now a shopping destination. Our guide pointed out that, unlike many European cities with an “old town,” Newcastle’s old buildings are mixed in with the new. Of course “old” in Newcastle is not much more than 150 years old. 

The walking tour then traversed a street one block away from the light rail street. It was a residential neighborhood, once run down but now gentrified in turn-of-the-twentieth century houses. The culmination of this not so strenuous hike was ice cream at a parlor near the beach. Great ice cream, but then again in all our travels we’ve never encountered anything but great ice cream. It took two runs of the bus to get us all back. Judy and I were unfortunate to be in the second bus. I whiled away the 30-minute delay with a wade in the chilly Pacific Ocean waters. Couldn’t find a surfboard though. Crikey.

I asked our guide if “transportation” – Briton’s practice of sending convicts to New South Whales for seven years, ten years or life – had a lasting impact. He said, yes, in at least two ways. First, the Australian accent and manner of speaking stems from the uneducated cockney accent of lower class British commoners. And the Aussie’s tendency to abbreviate words – Newcastlillians becomes Newies, Australians becomes Aussies – derives from the same street language of the convicts. 

Second, Aussies practice what is termed Tall Poppy Syndrome. This is the practice of downplaying one’s elevated status in society and among friends. People want to avoid being seen as the tall poppy in the field and goes to great lengths to be one of the masses. Politicians do it. Successful business people do it. Our guide’s uncle is a multimillionaire and dresses like a bumb. This comes from the leveling effect of being a transported convict. No matter whether the person was convicted for petty theft, as many were, or a white collar crime like embezzlement or forgery, everyone suffered the same indignities and pain. To tout one’s elevated status in that situation was to bring down ridicule from fellow transporteres or extra punishment from the often sadistic overseers.

We were back on the ship in time for dinner and departure from the dock. We finished packing – bags out by 10 PM – and went to bed so as to be ready for the 5 AM entrance to Sydney Harbor. I’m typing this on the plane to Uluru (aka Ayer’s Rock) and, spoiler alert, getting up at five was well worth it. It’s going to be 104 degrees, but dry, when we get there. Most outside activities will be in the early morning or late afternoon.