Stay tuned!
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Caledonia Drivin'
As I make the updates on Australia below, I am actually in Nouméa, the capital of New Caledonia. There is a lot of interesting stuff to tell from this pays d'outre-mer (half France, half independent). Above all, it is stunningly beautiful and internet access is scarce. The last seven days, I have been doing a roadtrip around the main island, Grande Terre, which is actually... quite big.
Stay tuned!
Stay tuned!
Magic in the Red Centre
Perhaps in honor of the visitors from the Netherlands, this March in Sydney was the rainiest one in decades. I did not mind too much: I was busy with my work and the MuST conference, and on the weekend where I explored the Eastern beaches and the Ku-Rin-Gai Chase/Brisbane Waters NPs, weather was gorgeous. However, at some point its starts to get on your nerves. So I was happy that I could escape the pouring rain by a four-day camping safari in the Red Centre, which I had booked long in advance. 35+ degrees and blue skies were waiting for me.
As I may have mentioned earlier, my parents were touring Australia in the same period when I was in Sydney. They visited me there twice and we also made sure to be on the same trip to Uluru (=Ayers Rock), Kata Tjuta (=The Olgas), King’s Canyon, and so on.
Two times Uluru.
Valley of the Winds, Kata Tjuta.
Uluru just after sunrise, this time with (some people from) the group. My parents at the right hand side.
I won’t bore you with a detailed description of what we did when, but rather describe the general feeling I got. Two things stand out. First, landscapes are vast. Australia is a huge country, and even in a small corner in the center, we did roughly 1,300 km in four days. (Some groups, who did not have a 4x4-vehicle and could not take shortcuts via dirt tracks, did even more in three days.) Second, landscapes are magical. Bizzare, overwhelming rock formations in the middle of nowhere. (To the above, you can add Mt Connor and Haast’s Bluff, a huge meteorite crater.) Or a sudden richness of vegetation close to a river of waterhole in an unwelcoming desert landscape. It is hard to stay unmoved and not to get connected to the spirit of the place. You get an idea why they are sacred for the Aborigines who once lived there.
(Sad thought: Aborigines have been living their traditional lives in that region for ten thousands of years. It took European settlers only about 100 years to cut this tradition, by outright expropriation, but also by extensive livestock farming, degrading the soil, importing animals, interrupting food chains...)
Actually, the desert was not so deserty because there had been lots of rain in the months before. To the point that tours had to be cancelled because roads were no more passable. You often get this in the tropical North, where (southern) summer is the rainy season, but not so far south. For us, it was lucky, of course, because the intense red of the rock and the soil contrasted beautifully with the green grass.
Everything we did was worthwhile. The only incident was a mice attack which haunted most tents in the last night and disturbed the sleep of a great number of people. I did not notice anything, but that was perhaps because I have an indifferent attitude towards these animals.
If I have to name a favorite, it would be the walk in King’s Canyon. We got up in the morning hours (4:30!) in order to start the walk at dawn’s light and to finish it while temperatures were still bearable. Landscapes are remiscient of the grand American national parks in the Southwest (Arches NP and Zion NP in particular), but some things are special. In the middle of the walk, you can descend into a shadowy river gorge full of water, grass and trees. It is called the Garden of Eden, and for good reasons. Sunlight does not reach here, at least not in the morning hours. When few people are around, a magical silence calms down all thoughts of mundane affairs. You are left to yourself and the elements: the scorched soil from which green trees emerge, the dark, impenetrable water which searches its way between them, the crispy air beneath the blue skies and the fire of the Sun which lights up the red rocks up on the rim. It is a place where you only want to stay. But alas, you have to move on eventually. I finish with some pictures from that walk.
Not quite the Jihadi training camp. Just effective protection against the sun and extremely annoying flies.
The Garden of Eden.
Below and above: top of the gorge.
As I may have mentioned earlier, my parents were touring Australia in the same period when I was in Sydney. They visited me there twice and we also made sure to be on the same trip to Uluru (=Ayers Rock), Kata Tjuta (=The Olgas), King’s Canyon, and so on.
Two times Uluru.
I won’t bore you with a detailed description of what we did when, but rather describe the general feeling I got. Two things stand out. First, landscapes are vast. Australia is a huge country, and even in a small corner in the center, we did roughly 1,300 km in four days. (Some groups, who did not have a 4x4-vehicle and could not take shortcuts via dirt tracks, did even more in three days.) Second, landscapes are magical. Bizzare, overwhelming rock formations in the middle of nowhere. (To the above, you can add Mt Connor and Haast’s Bluff, a huge meteorite crater.) Or a sudden richness of vegetation close to a river of waterhole in an unwelcoming desert landscape. It is hard to stay unmoved and not to get connected to the spirit of the place. You get an idea why they are sacred for the Aborigines who once lived there.
(Sad thought: Aborigines have been living their traditional lives in that region for ten thousands of years. It took European settlers only about 100 years to cut this tradition, by outright expropriation, but also by extensive livestock farming, degrading the soil, importing animals, interrupting food chains...)
Actually, the desert was not so deserty because there had been lots of rain in the months before. To the point that tours had to be cancelled because roads were no more passable. You often get this in the tropical North, where (southern) summer is the rainy season, but not so far south. For us, it was lucky, of course, because the intense red of the rock and the soil contrasted beautifully with the green grass.
Everything we did was worthwhile. The only incident was a mice attack which haunted most tents in the last night and disturbed the sleep of a great number of people. I did not notice anything, but that was perhaps because I have an indifferent attitude towards these animals.
If I have to name a favorite, it would be the walk in King’s Canyon. We got up in the morning hours (4:30!) in order to start the walk at dawn’s light and to finish it while temperatures were still bearable. Landscapes are remiscient of the grand American national parks in the Southwest (Arches NP and Zion NP in particular), but some things are special. In the middle of the walk, you can descend into a shadowy river gorge full of water, grass and trees. It is called the Garden of Eden, and for good reasons. Sunlight does not reach here, at least not in the morning hours. When few people are around, a magical silence calms down all thoughts of mundane affairs. You are left to yourself and the elements: the scorched soil from which green trees emerge, the dark, impenetrable water which searches its way between them, the crispy air beneath the blue skies and the fire of the Sun which lights up the red rocks up on the rim. It is a place where you only want to stay. But alas, you have to move on eventually. I finish with some pictures from that walk.
Not quite the Jihadi training camp. Just effective protection against the sun and extremely annoying flies.
The Garden of Eden.
Below and above: top of the gorge.
The Forgotten Gem (Royal NP)
Every visitor to Sydney makes it to the Opera House. Most of them cruise the harbor with the spectacular entrance at Manly, the Taronga Zoo, and so on. They also explore the various city districts such as The Rocks (touristy, but nice), Glebe (hipster, but nice), Newtown (used to be hipster, now primarily noisy), Kings Cross (only for backpackers without money), Bondi Beach (only for backpackers with money), and so on. In terms of excursions, the Blue Mountains are by far the most popular destination. Which is surprising since there is a splendid natural beauty directly south of Sydney: the Royal National Park. It does, of course, not match the mountains in terms of sheer drama, but according to what I can find in the internet, the coastline is still awesome, alternating between rugged cliffs, hills with meadows and palm-dotted, sandy beaches.
I decide to explore the park. Given that the weather forecasts for the weekend are mixed, I take a day off, and on a sunny Thursday morning, I make my way to the southern end of the park. The train takes lots of curves and slowly passes through beautiful eucalyptus woods, with small rivers and lakes inbetween. When I reach Otford train station at about 9h, the only other two persons who leave the train are two German girls. Could have been expected. First, we are many, second, we like nature, third, Australians get up earlier.
I walk for two hours through subtropical rainforest. The views over the South coast are awesome and temperatures are still bearable.
Finally the vegetation opens up, and I arrive at Burning Palms Beach. Well, this one has survived the fire.
Then, however, a group of noisy Frenchies arrives and I decide that it is time to move on. I encounter more groups on the way back to Burning Palms beach and nod to myself for getting up at 6:30. After 1,5 hours of walking on, I am at Garie Beach.
It is past noon and I have lunch, followed by a bath in the sea. I have to decide whether to go for the German Infantry Marching Prize and to complete the Coast Walk up to Bundeena. A little bit less than 30 km in total---people normally do this in two days. Unfortunately, I would have to make it before 19h: then, the last ferry departs and if I miss it, I will be stuck in the middle of nowhere. Also, I don’t know the terrain, I can’t refill my water and it is 30 degrees in the shadow. I postpone the decision until after a nap. When I wake up, it is one hour later, and the choice has been made for me. Not without a slight feeling of relief I return and walk back (this time not at the coast, but on the ridge). It is still a very honorable 25km walk and I arrive home exhausted, but happy.
Whenever you make it to Sydney, be sure not to miss this beauty!
I decide to explore the park. Given that the weather forecasts for the weekend are mixed, I take a day off, and on a sunny Thursday morning, I make my way to the southern end of the park. The train takes lots of curves and slowly passes through beautiful eucalyptus woods, with small rivers and lakes inbetween. When I reach Otford train station at about 9h, the only other two persons who leave the train are two German girls. Could have been expected. First, we are many, second, we like nature, third, Australians get up earlier.
I walk for two hours through subtropical rainforest. The views over the South coast are awesome and temperatures are still bearable.
Finally the vegetation opens up, and I arrive at Burning Palms Beach. Well, this one has survived the fire.
From there, you can make a short detour to a famous spot just beneath the cliffs: Figure Eight pool. It is only accessible at low tide and essentially consists of stone ledges with deep water pools between them. (See also the blog background image on top.) After hours of walking, it is a pure joy to dive in, especially since barely anybody is there.
It is past noon and I have lunch, followed by a bath in the sea. I have to decide whether to go for the German Infantry Marching Prize and to complete the Coast Walk up to Bundeena. A little bit less than 30 km in total---people normally do this in two days. Unfortunately, I would have to make it before 19h: then, the last ferry departs and if I miss it, I will be stuck in the middle of nowhere. Also, I don’t know the terrain, I can’t refill my water and it is 30 degrees in the shadow. I postpone the decision until after a nap. When I wake up, it is one hour later, and the choice has been made for me. Not without a slight feeling of relief I return and walk back (this time not at the coast, but on the ridge). It is still a very honorable 25km walk and I arrive home exhausted, but happy.
Whenever you make it to Sydney, be sure not to miss this beauty!
Monday, March 20, 2017
"I will be 15 minutes late"
Dozens, if not hundreds of people have received this message from me. In this case, I am about 15 days late with a blog update. But who cares---after all, there are more important things in life than to follow my travel blog. Enjoy!
In the next postings, I plan to introduce my Sydney neighborhood (Marrickville), my workplace (the Australian Guggenheim), the magnificent Royal National Park, just south of Sydney, and to tell about my trip to the Red Centre.
In the next postings, I plan to introduce my Sydney neighborhood (Marrickville), my workplace (the Australian Guggenheim), the magnificent Royal National Park, just south of Sydney, and to tell about my trip to the Red Centre.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Weekend Excursion (2): Broken Bay and the Hawkesbury River Estuary
On Sunday, the weather is even better than on Saturday, and I manage to get up early (7 am). For me, this is a real sacrifice, but I want to spend the day at the Ku-Rin-Gai Chase and Brisbane Waters National Parks, which are some 50 km up the coast from Sydney, to the North and South of the Hawkesbury river estuary.
I do not want to bore you with long descriptions of what I did when, and I will just post some pictures from the trip. Basically, I took the bus up to Palm Beach (the poshiest of the posh Sydney sururbs) did a 4h ferry cruise on Broken Bay and the Hawkesbury river, and a light afternoon bushwalk from Patonga to Umina Beach. With incredible views of the river estuary and Broken Bay.
Pretty much paradise. At least with good weather.
Checking in at the Ocean Beach Hotel---not a posh resort, but a pub and gambling center with rooms on the second floor---proves to be challenging. My credit card is in Sydney (after all, the payment was pre-authorized via a booking website) and they demand a 200 AUD cash deposit which I obviously do not carry. At some point, I consider canceling my booking and returning to Sydney. But in the end, I find an ATM and everything works out.
"I should get something in return", I tell the staff, who was friendly all the time, but deferred to company policy. "A free coke or so." The response is given with an open smile and utterly baffling after the previous hazzles.
"Do you drink beer?"
"Yes..."
"Let me fix you a couple of drinks."
"One is enough, thank you."
"Do you also drink spirits?"
"..."
Probably I could have emptied the entire bar. But since I already had a glass of white wine at a pit stop in the afternoon, just before the bushwalk, I leave it with a large draft beer. Fortunately, there is no company policy on free drinks for tired guests. May this remain so.
I do not want to bore you with long descriptions of what I did when, and I will just post some pictures from the trip. Basically, I took the bus up to Palm Beach (the poshiest of the posh Sydney sururbs) did a 4h ferry cruise on Broken Bay and the Hawkesbury river, and a light afternoon bushwalk from Patonga to Umina Beach. With incredible views of the river estuary and Broken Bay.
Pretty much paradise. At least with good weather.
Below are the pictures from the bushwalk described above. It winds upwards through light forest, with several magnificient lookouts on the river estuary. Then, it descends to a beautiful sandy beach with an ocean pool (Pearl Beach). In the forest behind it, rich Sydneysiders have bought their holiday home, presumably before the real estate rush. Now, these places cannot even be bought for money. From there, I conclude the walk by walking along the trips to Umina Beach, where the evening light throws a glorious golden shade over sand and water alike.
Checking in at the Ocean Beach Hotel---not a posh resort, but a pub and gambling center with rooms on the second floor---proves to be challenging. My credit card is in Sydney (after all, the payment was pre-authorized via a booking website) and they demand a 200 AUD cash deposit which I obviously do not carry. At some point, I consider canceling my booking and returning to Sydney. But in the end, I find an ATM and everything works out.
"I should get something in return", I tell the staff, who was friendly all the time, but deferred to company policy. "A free coke or so." The response is given with an open smile and utterly baffling after the previous hazzles.
"Do you drink beer?"
"Yes..."
"Let me fix you a couple of drinks."
"One is enough, thank you."
"Do you also drink spirits?"
"..."
Probably I could have emptied the entire bar. But since I already had a glass of white wine at a pit stop in the afternoon, just before the bushwalk, I leave it with a large draft beer. Fortunately, there is no company policy on free drinks for tired guests. May this remain so.
Weekend Excursion (1): The Eastern Beaches
This Saturday, the sun was shining radiantly after a week of Dutch april weather (read: some clouds, more wind, lots of unpredictable rain, and not so much sun). I decided that this was a good moment to explore the Eastern beaches and to walk from Bondi Beach along the cliffs down to Corgee beach. Here are my impressions.
Bondi Beach is the biggest of all Sydney beaches. It is situated in a beautiful bay which is spoilt by drunken backpackers and people with too many tattoos, too many muscles, and a deeply proletarian take on life. And I don't mean the surfers: they are serious in what they are doing and have my respect. "Was wäre Wien schön ohne Wiener", Georg Kreisler once sung. Yes, this is also true of the most iconic Sydney Beach.
After walking along the cliffs, the next beach, some 2 km further, is Tamarama Beach. Small and secluded, it has a much nicer atmosphere. And impressive 2 vs. 2 footvolley action on a regular beach volleyball field. More than amazing what these guys (and one girl) do with their heads, breasts, and feet. A nice place to rest.
Then, one arrives at Bronte Beach, which is again one of the major bays. But it is much nicer than Bondi. There is a green park in the middle of the bay, with real trees, and at the southern end, there is one of the many Sydney ocean pools. A small saltwater swimming pool where you can swim when currents and wind make it impossible to swim in the sea. It is big fun. You get a fair share of the waves and they fizz on the surface like champagne bubbles. People scream like in Rocco Siffredi movies. And it's free.
Finally, you pass by the Waverley graveyard, which is directly on top of the coast, and make it down to Corgee Beach. And there, it is time for fries and a beer. Cheers!
Bondi Beach is the biggest of all Sydney beaches. It is situated in a beautiful bay which is spoilt by drunken backpackers and people with too many tattoos, too many muscles, and a deeply proletarian take on life. And I don't mean the surfers: they are serious in what they are doing and have my respect. "Was wäre Wien schön ohne Wiener", Georg Kreisler once sung. Yes, this is also true of the most iconic Sydney Beach.
After walking along the cliffs, the next beach, some 2 km further, is Tamarama Beach. Small and secluded, it has a much nicer atmosphere. And impressive 2 vs. 2 footvolley action on a regular beach volleyball field. More than amazing what these guys (and one girl) do with their heads, breasts, and feet. A nice place to rest.
Then, one arrives at Bronte Beach, which is again one of the major bays. But it is much nicer than Bondi. There is a green park in the middle of the bay, with real trees, and at the southern end, there is one of the many Sydney ocean pools. A small saltwater swimming pool where you can swim when currents and wind make it impossible to swim in the sea. It is big fun. You get a fair share of the waves and they fizz on the surface like champagne bubbles. People scream like in Rocco Siffredi movies. And it's free.
Finally, you pass by the Waverley graveyard, which is directly on top of the coast, and make it down to Corgee Beach. And there, it is time for fries and a beer. Cheers!
The Art of Surviving
I have been silent for quite some time. Two weeks full of conferencing, teaching and a weekend of canyoning. This latter experience proved to be quite strenous and above all, nerve-wrecking.
It was a post-conference weekend in the blue mountains with some 10-15 people, organized by the Distinguished Professor Paul Griffiths, my host at the University of Sydney. Paul is not only a terrific philosopher of biology, but also an enthusiastic sportsman who likes bushwalking, climbing, canyoning/abseiling, surfing, and all the other outdoor stuff. Some weeks before, Paul suggested that I join him for canyoning. One of his first emails regarding the weekend read as follows:
They didn't make this up.
Still, I thought that it would not be very manly to chicken out at this point. So I got up on Saturday morning at 6:15 in my tent at Newnes in the Blue Mountains. A pleasant environment in a valley where they used to do extract shale oil before it got too expensive. This was in the 1910s and -20s, by the way.
We walked up the ridge and did the safety drill on a gorgeous lookout point with some rocks. If you have never done abseiling before, it feels quite strange to trust your life to a rope and a single metal carabiner. Also, my moves at the beginner's rock were far from convincing. My trip mates, however, were not only experienced canyoners, but also seasoned liars. "Great, Jan!" "Like a pro!" Well, you do need confidence for abseiling, if not much else.
We walked down on the ridge and worked our way through the scrubs into the canyon (entrance on the picture below). My nose spectacularly hit the ground when I leaned on a dead tree while moving downwards. Ouch. At this point I felt that I should perhaps just walk back and just realize that I was not made for extreme challenges. But then, we were at the top of the gorge and it was too late to turn back. On the wetsuit, the harness, and the helmet.
And then the first abseil of your life is 25 meters down into a dark waterhole that you can't even see.
(Not my picture, of course, but that's the spot.)
I did better than expected. The worst moment is when you are attached to the rope and you have to lean into it, to trust it. Once you are descending without doing something stupid, things work pretty much automatically and I could actually apply the techniques I had learned before. And the canyon itself was, of course, amazing---a deep gorge, 1-2 meters broad with 20-30 m high walls. Or even more. I did not make photos, but more than enough impressive images can be found here. I have copied one of them into the blog.
I also learned that the length of an abseil is not always a good predictor for its difficulty. The next one was shorter (15 meters), but everything was wet and I slipped while moving down the edge where the rope was anchored. I fell with my bums on the rock and was pretty uncoordinated. For a split second, I saw the horror in Paul's eyes. "Don't you ever let go of that rope!!!" Then, I slowly got on my feet and started descending again. I made it to the bottom, albeit in a somewhat clumsy way.
More dangerous than the abseiling were actually some rock scrambling passages in the canyon. If you blow it there, then you do not fall 20m into a deep constriction, but you will definitely break some bones and earn a helicopter ride. Thanks to the excellent advice and assistance from my teammates, this was not necessary. And I was not unhappy that time forbade us to do a third and fourth abseil. Down a slippery waterfall, with double belay and other stuff that sounded intimidating. At least to a novice like me.
It was quite a walk back along the river, but we were back in time for dinner. Self-made pizza from the wood oven. And on the next day, when we were driving back, we stopped at the Pierce's Pass lookout. I had survived the canyoning trip, and now it actually started to feel like holiday.
It was a post-conference weekend in the blue mountains with some 10-15 people, organized by the Distinguished Professor Paul Griffiths, my host at the University of Sydney. Paul is not only a terrific philosopher of biology, but also an enthusiastic sportsman who likes bushwalking, climbing, canyoning/abseiling, surfing, and all the other outdoor stuff. Some weeks before, Paul suggested that I join him for canyoning. One of his first emails regarding the weekend read as follows:
This scared the hell out of me, but Paul was quick to calm me down. "You will be fine." When I asked his colleagues, and they started laughing. "ABC almost died on one of Paul's bushwalks. DEF bruised her ribs, GHI sprained his ankle, ...The helicopter had to come a couple of times.""Elena and I want to do Devil’s Pinch canyon on Saturday. Jan and Brett have expressed an interest in joining us. I can take a couple more people, but this is not something to be taken lightly. It takes all day and begins with a steep, 400m ascent to the top of the cliffs followed by descending a deep, narrow slot in the cliffs using ropes and swimming through pools which are pretty cold even in summer, as they never see the sun. The longest abseil is 26m into a dark slot where you can’t see the bottom!"
They didn't make this up.
Still, I thought that it would not be very manly to chicken out at this point. So I got up on Saturday morning at 6:15 in my tent at Newnes in the Blue Mountains. A pleasant environment in a valley where they used to do extract shale oil before it got too expensive. This was in the 1910s and -20s, by the way.
We walked up the ridge and did the safety drill on a gorgeous lookout point with some rocks. If you have never done abseiling before, it feels quite strange to trust your life to a rope and a single metal carabiner. Also, my moves at the beginner's rock were far from convincing. My trip mates, however, were not only experienced canyoners, but also seasoned liars. "Great, Jan!" "Like a pro!" Well, you do need confidence for abseiling, if not much else.
We walked down on the ridge and worked our way through the scrubs into the canyon (entrance on the picture below). My nose spectacularly hit the ground when I leaned on a dead tree while moving downwards. Ouch. At this point I felt that I should perhaps just walk back and just realize that I was not made for extreme challenges. But then, we were at the top of the gorge and it was too late to turn back. On the wetsuit, the harness, and the helmet.
And then the first abseil of your life is 25 meters down into a dark waterhole that you can't even see.
(Not my picture, of course, but that's the spot.)
I did better than expected. The worst moment is when you are attached to the rope and you have to lean into it, to trust it. Once you are descending without doing something stupid, things work pretty much automatically and I could actually apply the techniques I had learned before. And the canyon itself was, of course, amazing---a deep gorge, 1-2 meters broad with 20-30 m high walls. Or even more. I did not make photos, but more than enough impressive images can be found here. I have copied one of them into the blog.
I also learned that the length of an abseil is not always a good predictor for its difficulty. The next one was shorter (15 meters), but everything was wet and I slipped while moving down the edge where the rope was anchored. I fell with my bums on the rock and was pretty uncoordinated. For a split second, I saw the horror in Paul's eyes. "Don't you ever let go of that rope!!!" Then, I slowly got on my feet and started descending again. I made it to the bottom, albeit in a somewhat clumsy way.
More dangerous than the abseiling were actually some rock scrambling passages in the canyon. If you blow it there, then you do not fall 20m into a deep constriction, but you will definitely break some bones and earn a helicopter ride. Thanks to the excellent advice and assistance from my teammates, this was not necessary. And I was not unhappy that time forbade us to do a third and fourth abseil. Down a slippery waterfall, with double belay and other stuff that sounded intimidating. At least to a novice like me.
It was quite a walk back along the river, but we were back in time for dinner. Self-made pizza from the wood oven. And on the next day, when we were driving back, we stopped at the Pierce's Pass lookout. I had survived the canyoning trip, and now it actually started to feel like holiday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)