As an indication of how long we've been in Australia now (11 weeks), we think nothing of rolling off names like Tangalooma, Uluru, Wollongong, and so on. Wagga Wagga still solicits a gentle giggle, but even that's settling down now.
The aforementioned Tangalooma is a resort on the West coast of Moreton Island - another Sandy Island off the Queensland coast, but this time just a hour's boat trip from the Centre of Brisbane. Like Fraser, there's lots to do there, but where Fraser has dingos, Tangalooma has dolphins. Wild ones that swim to the beach most nights, and which you can get to feed under very controlled circumstances. We left Brizzy at 10:am and got back at 9:00 pm, and I'm hard pushed to account for much of what we did there. We didn't do the helicopter rides, we didn't do the quad biking, we didn't even walk as far as the wrecks that lie on the beach, preferring to just snorkel close to the resort itself. The most strenuous activity of the day was a half-hour kayaking which Nina really enjoyed, but Sara considered to be "a little bit boring actually". Partly we were saving money (it wouldn't do to turn up at Duncan's house expecting bed and board after skiting around in a helicopter a few days previously), but partly we were just kicking back and chilling out. As well as the four of us, there was Leah and little Caitlin who came along for the trip, so we six make camp on the edge of the beach within easy reach of sea and pool, and let the day stretch lazily (Leah was kept a little busy taking care of Caity but she a professional and found the time to send Simon - who is doing absurd hours in the office - a little picture of our surroundings. He replied with a picture from his desk. Two screens, he has! I was very jealous. Honestly.)
Another reason perhaps that we didn't run around trying to do everything available on the island is that we were there principally to experience the arrival of the 9 or so regular dolphin visitors to Tangalooma, and if possible, get to feed them. The dolphins come in at sunset, which in Queensland is around 6:00 pm (Queensland does not observe Daylight Saving/Summer time - something related to a morbid fear of sun-faded curtains). By this time we were all nicely sun-tired, and beach-faded, and I personally was experiencing a dramatically reduced attention span, hanging round the jetty, almost forgetting why I was there. Funny how a dorsal fin can change all that.
The dolphins could be seen making their unhurried way from the South, in the shallow water along the beach. There was a hydrophone in the water at this point, picking up the clicks and squeaks they were producing, and playing it to the crowd of 100 or so people waiting around the darkening jetty. There wasn't a single announcement, not a single explanation, from the marine biologists who were managing this event. They just let the dolphins do the talking, and it was sublime. The atmosphere was such that when the animals finally approached the jetty, and we could see them clearly though the shallow transparent water, I felt like I was in an alien encounter. A good 30 minutes passed where the 8 individuals who turned up that night did the talking and put on a beautiful display of swimming, hunting and good old-fashioned jack-assing in front of the delighted crowd. It was clear that some were younger than others, and at least one juvenile was inseparable from its mother. A group of 3 or 4 writhed about together for a while, right in front of where I stood with Nina, until they stopped, and one by one stuck an eye above the surface to look right at us. One family, gazing at another. Each as curious, it would appear, as the other.
At 6:30 it was time for the public to feed the dolphins, so we queued up on the beach, and followed the precise instructions of the biologists: rinse off any sun cream - it irritates the dolphins' eyes; wash hands thoroughly in disinfectant, and no touching the animals. When it was time for Nina and I to enter the water, we held the fish in the way we were told, put our hands under water, and watched spellbound as Storm and Silhouette rolled over, approached us, and very very gently relieved us of the fish that had been stinking up our hands in the queue.
I've never been one to get too excited about dolphins - I certainly would never ascribe to them the human level of intelligence that some New Age commentators seem to do. But this was unmistakably an encounter with intelligent, beautiful, graceful beasts, that will have a lasting effect on how I see them. Once more, in the age of TV, we feel like we've already seen everything. And it a way, we have. There was no surprise to me in their physical appearance, or in the grace and strength they displayed in the water. I've seen Jacques Cousteau documentaries since I was younger than Nina and Sara. But for some strange reason I was as excited and moved by the actual physical proximity to these 8 dolphins as were Nina and Sara. I can't quite say why, but I'm glad it felt that way.
Letizia has posted on Tangalooma, and as ever has included some great photos. All of the dolphin shots were taken by Leah, except for the ones with the resort logo in the corner.
If you find yourself in Brisbane, and don't have the time to go to Fraser, then make it as far as Tangalooma. You won't be sorry.
Showing posts with label brisbane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brisbane. Show all posts
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Crikey! Australia Zoo!
Steve Irwin died on September 6 2006 when he and a camera man apparently boxed in a stingray which then sank its barb into Irwin's heart. The reaction was global, most of it in praise of the man, some saying that he had pretty much been asking for it.
The news reached our home in Cork of course, and Nina and Sara were put out, and not a little puzzled, by the fact that the Crocodile Hunter they enjoyed watching on TV was dead. 18 months later (on Sunday last) we headed North from Brisbane on the the Bruce Highway, turning off onto the recently renamed Steve Irwin Way to visit Australia Zoo, the home of the Irwin family, and the place where many scenes from the Croc Files were shot. You could hardly tell the poor guy was dead.
Posters and billboards of Steve were everywhere - outside, inside, on the huge 2-level Australia Zoo coaches in the car park. Big cardboard Crikeys all over the shop. The zoo literature made no mention of his death, and of course inside everything was business as usual. I didn't expect black armbands, but the experience was a little eerie none the less.
We spent about 5 hours in the zoo itself, 2 hours of which was taken up by a spectacle in the Crocoseum - a 3000 seater stadium-like structure in the heart of the zoo - where we saw a bird show, snakes, elephants and of course crocodiles. Well, a crocodile. A bloody great saltwater beast that would make you shiver:
The show had a very strong conservationist message in it, as well as pointing out just
how easily the threat of crocodiles is dealt with compared to many other predators. I think this is what Irwin was interested in getting across: they might look like monsters, but they've been around for a very long time, they've earned their place in the ecosystem, and we should give them the respect and protection they're due. And finally we heard phrases like "Steve's memory" and saw a wall of khaki shirts with messages of condolence and support. And in fairness to the Australia Zoo, it was all done in a positive, upbeat way - like applause at an actors funeral.
Other notable sights in the zoo were wombats that actually moved around. We've been to three other places where wombats were potentially available to be seen. In each and every place the said wombat was comatose and arse to the window. In Australia Zoo, the wombats were frolicking with the staff, practically playing catch. I asked a keeper how this was so, and she explained that their wombats were effectively trained to stay awake during the day, and would sleep all night, which struck me as a strange thing for a zoo to do to a nocturnal animal.
Another creature that was more lively here than elsewhere was the koala. These fellas get so little energy from they gum leaves they eat that they can barely stay awake for more than 6 hours a day. They make Giant Pandas look like gym nazis by comparison. But here, our jaws dropped to see koalas moving around trees (despite the fact that there were plenty of perfectly fine leaves to be had where they were) and on one occasion, get down onto the ground and move to a different tree. I suspect genetically modified eucalyptus trees, with caffeine added.
We also had another close look at a kookaburra, and I got a picture to show readers of this blog why having three of them perched at your shoulder and eyeing up your beef lasagne can be a disconcerting experience. Take a look at the bill on this guy:
The girls had a good day out, and learned lots. They dwelt a while on the unfairness of Irwin's sudden death, feeling very sorry for Bindi, his daughter who would be about Nina's age. Life can be desperately unfair, and it's good to learn that early on. It either prepares you for what can be thrown at you, or makes you damn glad of what you have.
The news reached our home in Cork of course, and Nina and Sara were put out, and not a little puzzled, by the fact that the Crocodile Hunter they enjoyed watching on TV was dead. 18 months later (on Sunday last) we headed North from Brisbane on the the Bruce Highway, turning off onto the recently renamed Steve Irwin Way to visit Australia Zoo, the home of the Irwin family, and the place where many scenes from the Croc Files were shot. You could hardly tell the poor guy was dead.
Posters and billboards of Steve were everywhere - outside, inside, on the huge 2-level Australia Zoo coaches in the car park. Big cardboard Crikeys all over the shop. The zoo literature made no mention of his death, and of course inside everything was business as usual. I didn't expect black armbands, but the experience was a little eerie none the less.
We spent about 5 hours in the zoo itself, 2 hours of which was taken up by a spectacle in the Crocoseum - a 3000 seater stadium-like structure in the heart of the zoo - where we saw a bird show, snakes, elephants and of course crocodiles. Well, a crocodile. A bloody great saltwater beast that would make you shiver:
The show had a very strong conservationist message in it, as well as pointing out just
how easily the threat of crocodiles is dealt with compared to many other predators. I think this is what Irwin was interested in getting across: they might look like monsters, but they've been around for a very long time, they've earned their place in the ecosystem, and we should give them the respect and protection they're due. And finally we heard phrases like "Steve's memory" and saw a wall of khaki shirts with messages of condolence and support. And in fairness to the Australia Zoo, it was all done in a positive, upbeat way - like applause at an actors funeral.
Other notable sights in the zoo were wombats that actually moved around. We've been to three other places where wombats were potentially available to be seen. In each and every place the said wombat was comatose and arse to the window. In Australia Zoo, the wombats were frolicking with the staff, practically playing catch. I asked a keeper how this was so, and she explained that their wombats were effectively trained to stay awake during the day, and would sleep all night, which struck me as a strange thing for a zoo to do to a nocturnal animal.
Another creature that was more lively here than elsewhere was the koala. These fellas get so little energy from they gum leaves they eat that they can barely stay awake for more than 6 hours a day. They make Giant Pandas look like gym nazis by comparison. But here, our jaws dropped to see koalas moving around trees (despite the fact that there were plenty of perfectly fine leaves to be had where they were) and on one occasion, get down onto the ground and move to a different tree. I suspect genetically modified eucalyptus trees, with caffeine added.
We also had another close look at a kookaburra, and I got a picture to show readers of this blog why having three of them perched at your shoulder and eyeing up your beef lasagne can be a disconcerting experience. Take a look at the bill on this guy:
The girls had a good day out, and learned lots. They dwelt a while on the unfairness of Irwin's sudden death, feeling very sorry for Bindi, his daughter who would be about Nina's age. Life can be desperately unfair, and it's good to learn that early on. It either prepares you for what can be thrown at you, or makes you damn glad of what you have.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Another Story
Brizzy, Brisvegas or plain old Brisbane. Whatever you want to call it, that's what we're calling home right now. We're being hosted in a Queenslander style house owned by Simon and Leah. This kind of house, as you may have guessed from the name, is typical of the area and it's main feature in the past was its raised nature. Back before air-conditioning was invented, the folks around here built their houses off the ground, to allow air to get underneath, and keep the temperature down indoors. Nowadays, modern versions of the style keep the idea of the 'raised' house, but use the space downstair too for extra rooms. Lucky us, because it's thanks to this space and Simon and Leah's bravery/foolhardiness, that we are able to stay here for the last weeks of our time in Australia.
Simon and Leah's reckless generosity and meticulous hospitality have made our time here a delight. Leah in particular combines a Monica-like effortless efficiency with a Phoebe-like devil-may-care coolness. And while Simon exudes Chandler-like wit, as readers of this blog will already have noted, he comes from the Joey Tribbiani school of acting (though he does a better German accent than Joey).
We're spending the time here in a leisurely enough way. We've been to the city a few times - we're based in Sandgate which is a 30 min train ride to Brisbane's central station - and have just spent 5 days on the road between Brisbane and Fraser Island, but that's another story.
The city of Brisbane is experiencing something of a boom at the moment. Simon told me that there were adverts circulating London calling on emigrant Queenslanders to return: 'the shops are open longer and men can drink wine outdoors'. Sounds like Ireland about 10 years ago (though I've just been told that it's all going tits over arse at the moment).
Brisbane, and Queensland in general, has a reputation among other Australians, as being a backwater. And I get the feeling that Queensland People are doing their best to dispel the idea. Queensland went through what looks like a grim time back in the 70s and 80s under a premier called Johannes Bjelke-Petersen who aside from being uber-conservative and racist was also lucky not to be jailed for corruption. And as I'm on the subject of no-subject-at-all-just-meandering-trivia, it's worth pointing out that the current premier of Queensland is called Anna Bligh, and is the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Captain William Bligh, the unfairly maligned and mutineered commander of the Bounty who was also Sydney's fourth governor (where the poor sod once more found himself at the pointy end of a mutiny, this time leading to a two year 'rebel republic' in New South Wales). I've just finished a book called Captain Bligh's Other Mutiny, so I could go on, but that's another story.
On our first trip to the city, we got off at central, grabbed a bite to eat in a food court, before wandering down Elisabeth Street (the shopping area and Central Business District is in a little peninsular grid of its own, with female streets running east-west and male ones - George Street for example - running north-south.) This route took us through The Mall, which isn't a mall at all, but has wall-to-wall malls all around. (I'm beginning to read like Dr. Seuss - perhaps I ought to go to bed.) The CBD in Brisbane sports a few more adventurous architectural experiments some of which are pulled off nicely, but down near the Riverside ferry stop, the highrises are less imaginative and a little grim despite being evidently brand spanking new. Eventually we crossed the River Brisbane by the Victoria bridge, which leads to the Cultural Center: a riverside quarter that houses an art gallery, a science museum, library, and centre for the performing arts. The Australian skill of creating great museums, like in Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra, is also well in evidence here in Brisbane.
Story Bridge with Brisbane CBD and Botanic Gardens in background.
At the time of our visit there was an Andy Warhol exhibition. I'm an ignoramus of the visual arts, (but to my credit, I'm not proud of it) and the part of the gallery that I liked the most was the children's Warhol exhibition, and not just because it was free. It was set up to make learning about the artist as effortless and interesting as possible. Both Nina and Sara are into their art, so this was a big hit with them, but bloody hell I learned a lot about the man myself. One of the cooler things to do there was create your own Warhol-esque silk-screen portraits. I've included a few at the end of this post.
An interesting moment during the main Warhol exhibition: One wall was taken up with a series of portraits of a famous former statesman. Nina and Sara recognised him at once as being Mao Zedong. I doubt very much that they would have known that face before our trip to China, and even if they had, they wouldn't really be able to place him geographically or historically. It was a little bit of clumsy but concrete evidence to support the idea that they really are learning something about the world they live in during this trip. (On matters Chinese, two readers have asked me if I have anything to say about what's going on in China and Tibet at the moment. I do. But that's another story).
Nina
Sara
"Silly Daddy"
I was trying to looked terrified but in the end I just look like I'm trying to impersonate a moose. A terrified moose perhaps. A moose, for example, who has just heard how much it would cost him to go to Uluru from Brisbane. But that, like much of this post, is another story.
Simon and Leah's reckless generosity and meticulous hospitality have made our time here a delight. Leah in particular combines a Monica-like effortless efficiency with a Phoebe-like devil-may-care coolness. And while Simon exudes Chandler-like wit, as readers of this blog will already have noted, he comes from the Joey Tribbiani school of acting (though he does a better German accent than Joey).
We're spending the time here in a leisurely enough way. We've been to the city a few times - we're based in Sandgate which is a 30 min train ride to Brisbane's central station - and have just spent 5 days on the road between Brisbane and Fraser Island, but that's another story.
The city of Brisbane is experiencing something of a boom at the moment. Simon told me that there were adverts circulating London calling on emigrant Queenslanders to return: 'the shops are open longer and men can drink wine outdoors'. Sounds like Ireland about 10 years ago (though I've just been told that it's all going tits over arse at the moment).
Brisbane, and Queensland in general, has a reputation among other Australians, as being a backwater. And I get the feeling that Queensland People are doing their best to dispel the idea. Queensland went through what looks like a grim time back in the 70s and 80s under a premier called Johannes Bjelke-Petersen who aside from being uber-conservative and racist was also lucky not to be jailed for corruption. And as I'm on the subject of no-subject-at-all-just-meandering-trivia, it's worth pointing out that the current premier of Queensland is called Anna Bligh, and is the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Captain William Bligh, the unfairly maligned and mutineered commander of the Bounty who was also Sydney's fourth governor (where the poor sod once more found himself at the pointy end of a mutiny, this time leading to a two year 'rebel republic' in New South Wales). I've just finished a book called Captain Bligh's Other Mutiny, so I could go on, but that's another story.
On our first trip to the city, we got off at central, grabbed a bite to eat in a food court, before wandering down Elisabeth Street (the shopping area and Central Business District is in a little peninsular grid of its own, with female streets running east-west and male ones - George Street for example - running north-south.) This route took us through The Mall, which isn't a mall at all, but has wall-to-wall malls all around. (I'm beginning to read like Dr. Seuss - perhaps I ought to go to bed.) The CBD in Brisbane sports a few more adventurous architectural experiments some of which are pulled off nicely, but down near the Riverside ferry stop, the highrises are less imaginative and a little grim despite being evidently brand spanking new. Eventually we crossed the River Brisbane by the Victoria bridge, which leads to the Cultural Center: a riverside quarter that houses an art gallery, a science museum, library, and centre for the performing arts. The Australian skill of creating great museums, like in Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra, is also well in evidence here in Brisbane.
Story Bridge with Brisbane CBD and Botanic Gardens in background.
At the time of our visit there was an Andy Warhol exhibition. I'm an ignoramus of the visual arts, (but to my credit, I'm not proud of it) and the part of the gallery that I liked the most was the children's Warhol exhibition, and not just because it was free. It was set up to make learning about the artist as effortless and interesting as possible. Both Nina and Sara are into their art, so this was a big hit with them, but bloody hell I learned a lot about the man myself. One of the cooler things to do there was create your own Warhol-esque silk-screen portraits. I've included a few at the end of this post.
An interesting moment during the main Warhol exhibition: One wall was taken up with a series of portraits of a famous former statesman. Nina and Sara recognised him at once as being Mao Zedong. I doubt very much that they would have known that face before our trip to China, and even if they had, they wouldn't really be able to place him geographically or historically. It was a little bit of clumsy but concrete evidence to support the idea that they really are learning something about the world they live in during this trip. (On matters Chinese, two readers have asked me if I have anything to say about what's going on in China and Tibet at the moment. I do. But that's another story).
Nina
Sara
"Silly Daddy"
I was trying to looked terrified but in the end I just look like I'm trying to impersonate a moose. A terrified moose perhaps. A moose, for example, who has just heard how much it would cost him to go to Uluru from Brisbane. But that, like much of this post, is another story.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Southern Hemisphere Physics Experiment
Silly season is back.
I really meant to run this experiment as soon as we got into our apartment in Sydney, but I guess I needed somebody as, well, daft as myself to give me that extra push. We're staying with Simon and Leah Pett in Brisbane right now (some of you in DSI may remember him), and guess what? Simon fits the bill perfectly!
The more detailed, and let's face it, boring details that confirm our findings can be found here.
Soon to come: If I am standing on the Southern Hemisphere, do I fall off? (Hint: no)
I really meant to run this experiment as soon as we got into our apartment in Sydney, but I guess I needed somebody as, well, daft as myself to give me that extra push. We're staying with Simon and Leah Pett in Brisbane right now (some of you in DSI may remember him), and guess what? Simon fits the bill perfectly!
The more detailed, and let's face it, boring details that confirm our findings can be found here.
Soon to come: If I am standing on the Southern Hemisphere, do I fall off? (Hint: no)
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