The other week I had to call our Head of Security and utter a line I never thought I would: “I just wanted to warn you that you may get reports of shots fired on our campus.”
Thankfully, they hadn’t happened yet, and this was not an emergency, but rather a licensed provider dealing with a kangaroo that was beyond recovery. Australia is in the middle of a massive drought, and so some people in the suburbs are finding roos and other wildlife where we would not normally see them. We have roos all the time, but more sick ones than usual, because they are very hungry and therefore sometimes eating things that they shouldn’t.
So idyllic, in greener times…but sometimes distracting.
My office is located on a campus that is surrounded by bush. We have discussions about bushfire exclusion zones, and evaluations of which buildings are safest. We are on first name terms with Dusty from the animal rescue service, and we have a groundskeeper who has a second job working for Parks and Wildlife who is our first port of call when there’s a snake in the library or a possum in the childcare centre (and yes, both those things have happened). I’ve had to call Security and tell them that we’re closing the campus because of bushfire and because of flood–both in the same calendar year.
Traveling between campuses in August last year, there were fires in front and fires behind.
Which led to us getting this sign
… which we used in December flooding
Each time we have one of these events, we learn a little more. The first time we had a bushfire emergency, I was regaled with a tale by someone from a much larger campus about how the communications plan had been someone in high heels, running between buildings, shouting, “Fire! Fire!”
“Yes,” I replied, “that was me.”
We have 2-way radios, now.
The first time we had to close the campus, I was the last to leave when a carful of multi-generational hoons came cruising on in, to get a better view of the fire. “You can’t go in there,” I told the driver. “The campus is closed. There’s no one in there. The fire services will only turn you around if you keep going.”
The middle-aged woman in the passenger seat screeched an obscenity-laden message about how it was a public road and she didn’t need to listen to no one from no expletive-deleted university, and who did I think I was, anyway.
We have that nice “Campus Closed” sign, now.
I have no idea what the next thing to come up will be, but we’ll keep learning and our plans will keep evolving. And I can guarantee I will have more phone calls with the Head of Security where I can add to the “things I never thought I’d hear myself utter” file.
Do you have any #onlyonaregionalcampus stories to share?
Once we were convinced the flight from Punta Arenas to Santiago was actually going to happen, we were good to go. Breakfast at Johnny Rocket’s in Santiago airport filled both our bellies and the time nicely. The flight to Asuncion was uneventful, which was good, because trying to clear customs quickly descended into a comedy of errors.
We had known that we would need to buy a visa at the airport, but we assumed it would be pretty well signposted. I’m not sure why we thought this, because finding the place to pay our reciprocity fee in Santiago airport had been a little like a quest. Yet we did pay it, without issue, using international debit cards, and continued on our merry way.
In Asuncion, we followed the signs for visitors and then were told, in halting English, we had no visas. It would be some time before he would point out the booth we needed to go to get one, which was across the arrivals hall, and next to a statue of Pope John Paul II, which puzzled me, because the man was Polish. Still, I get a kick of pointing him out to my kids, telling them that just like 10 is my Doctor, he is my Pope. But I digress.
The very bored gentleman in the booth was sipping his mate, minding his own business and generally not having to process very many visas at all, which is lucky, because we ended up needing his advice and he was the most helpful person in the place by a country mile. We went to pay him and he told us he couldn’t take cards. Only crisp American dollar bills, and not ones beginning with certain letters and numbers. OK, sounds totally legit. $130, US. He did direct us to an ATM in the arrival hall, and so we backtracked again.
Turns out the ATM in the international arrivals hall of an international airport, which is the only place international visitors without a visa can access international currency to buy an international visa … doesn’t accept international cards.
So back to out mate we returned, and he pointed out the currency exchange place – just past customs. We pointed out that we couldn’t get though without a visa and he laughed it off, telling us to just ask permission. And so we lined up again, only to be totally surprised when they did indeed wave us through without checking anything.
Next, we had to try to communicate with the people in currency exchange. They insisted that we needed $160 US, because that’s what visitors from the US are charged. They were telling us this while holding our Australian passports. Then, we had to pay exorbitant airport conversion fees. Twice, because they converted from AUD to local currency and then to USD. Then my debit card was declined – with all these machinations, my balance ended up being short – by less than a dollar, we later learned, but a miss is as good as a mile. Asuncion is the only airport in the world I’ve been to in years that has no wifi whatsoever, so transferring money wasn’t an option. In the end I paid half, Jamie paid half and then I paid her back the instant we got signal. But this all took so much time that when we finally finished, we were accosted by airport security because there were two unclaimed bags left that they were about to take away and blow up or whatever it is that they do with suspicious parcels these days. Yes, they were ours. Everyone else had been processed, collected their luggage and left the airport but we were still there.
So back we went to our mate, dragging our suitcases and our tired selves past all the “do not enter/restricted areas” signs. He confirmed the price was $130US and happily took Jamie’s $160, right before we saw all the signs saying no change would be given. Luckily he took pity on us and understood Jamie’s Spanish and so the two visas went through as one “payment” and we were ripped off less than we thought we might be. In other news, I’m still carrying a few American dollars around because, you know, we weren’t in America and therefore had no use for that hard-won change.
I thought we were finally home and hosed as we put our bags through the X-ray and I caught sight of Dany’s mum, Gladys, who was looking every bit as stressed as us by this point – she must have thought we’d missed the plane. And then I was called back by security, who had seen something untoward in the suitcase that had already been through Sydney, Buenos Aires, Santiago (twice), and Punta Arenas (twice) airports with no issue. So I had to search for my keys, unlock the luggage, and watch her squeeze tentatively at my bag of dirty clothes, and my shoe, before finally snatching a packet of Tim Tams and holding it aloft in the self-satisfied manner of Hercules Poirot cracking a case. “Es frutilla!” she accused.
Not even close.
In no language and on no planet is a Tim Tam anything like a strawberry. I said “No” pretty vehemently and the woman stared at me. Me: They’re chocolate cookies. And so she shrugged and put them away. Final hurdle apparently jumped.
By this stage it had taken us so long to get out that Dany’s poor parents had to come back around and pay extra for parking, and we didn’t have time to eat before we hopped on the bus to go to Dany’s place in Ciudad del Este. But I was so darned pleased to see them, and incredibly thankful for the sandwiches they bought us before loading us on the bus.
Now, Jamie and I were blissfully unaware that Dany no longer lived in Asuncion. What can I say: boys communicate differently. He did, however, organise bus tickets and his parents to meet us, so the practical stuff was all in place; it was just a bit of a shock when we learned we had a five hour bus trip ahead of us. Dany came and actually took us off the bus, which was lucky, because Jamie was sure it wasn’t our stop, and I’d been concerned that every stop was. And so we had our reunion at a bus stop at midnight. We got back to his house in the wee hours and met his little princess, Sofia, who wanted to see the visitors, but was too tired to actually interact with us.
The next morning we were up early –about an hour too early, as it turns out, because our iPhones had us on neighbouring Brazilian time–and after breakfast we headed out to see the Iguazu Falls. I was pretty happy about this, because earlier in the year I’d caught an episode of Travel Guides where they went to the Falls, and I was keen to go, but Jamie said no because her exchange group was taking her to the Argentinian side as part of the program. So I made a point of telling her that Dany was a better child, because he organised it all when she just said No! And so we headed over the Brazilian border and into the national park. It was freezing cold on the open topped buses heading into the park, but it was all worth it for the views.
We trekked down to the Devil’s Throat and the over-water walkway and the sheer volume of water was just amazing. Also amazing to us was Dany’s commitment to carrying his flask of Terere –the cold water version of mate. My summary of this drink is: it’s not as bad as I remembered it. I can see how it might be refreshing, but it’s definitely an acquired taste. Mind you, Dany has similar thoughts about Vegemite!
These two ❤
We went home to have lunch, and the kids, Sofia (6) and Iker (2) were back from school. We had a bit of a games night, playing once more with the Kangaroo Valley kangaroo puzzles. These proved too easy for Sofi, so we had races and stacking competitions. This was followed with team Jenga: Team Ballet (Jamie & Sofi) versus Team Australia (me & Dany). We rounded out the night with some Uno for good measure.
Team Ballet in action
The following day Dany and Jamie and I headed out to Itaipu Dam & the hydro electric power station, which was when we made the news for the second time. Itaipu is a pretty amazing concept, with two nation states jointly owning the facility, and sending electricity to both. The day we were there, however, it was in the news because the original agreement is coming to a close and they are trying to sort out what the feed-in tariff will be for Brazil, moving forward. Protestors had barricaded the area but they let us through and we continued on our adventure. One of the protestors filmed it, though, and uploaded it to the Internet, so Dany was getting some pretty hilarious messages from his friends for the rest of the afternoon.
We had a private screening of a short movie and then a technical tour with our guide, Alex, which was pretty amazing.
9A is Paraguayan; 10 is producing energy for Brasil!
Dany in Brasil, me in Paraguay, and Jamie on the border.
Dinner that night was at a really nice pizza place, where we spent way too much time trying to translate “arugula” to know what was going on our pizza. I had never heard the word, even though all our apps were telling us it’s English. Turns out arugula is to rocket what cilantro is to coriander, and aubergine to eggplant, and cantelope is to rockmelon. And here I thought I’d be learning some Spanish …
Next morning we loaded up the car for the five hour drive up to Asuncion. A multi-generational, multi-lingual, multi-generic singalong ensued. Evidently Dany often makes this drive, and on Tuesday morning he drove everyone home, then went to work! Although I do sometimes do drive 4+ hours to work (in Bega), I don’t try to do it before a full day’s work!
I got excited by a sign to Universidad Santo Francisco de Assis (South America has captured a couple of corners of my heart, but I still love Italy’s Assisi beyond words). We saw traditional timber products for sale by the side of the road, and bought chippi out the car and mandarins out the car window. We saw an extraordinary number of chooks, dogs and even cows just wandering along the sides of the roads. And at one point we were diverted (for cash) around a road blockage. While we were going off-road, Dany was cheerfully remarking that at least if we got robbed, so would all the other cars! But we arrived without incident to a large family gathering, some delightfully heavy-handed whiskeys, and copious amounts of BBQed meat. My daughter rather helpfully informed me that my English sped up to its usual pace (as opposed to my more moderate ESL-friendly version when traveling) with a couple of whiskeys under my belt, and Dany compared me unfavourably with his cousin’s host-mother, who phones annually to offer birthday felicitations in Spanish.
Dionisio & Gladys, Dany (Australia) & Vivi, Karen (New Zealand), Kimberley clinging tightly to her Whis-Co (Japan), and Jamie (Italy). Dany & Karen’s younger brother, Cesar, went to South Africa, and their cousin, Carlitos, to Japan – plus, they have also hosted. #afseffect
Saturday was a big day. Dany took us around Asuncion, where we saw such sights as the Presidential Palace and the birthplace of Paraguay. Lad knows his History, and was able to relay it in English, too. Major props; I could not do that in Japanese. Not sure I ever could have, come to think of it. We also went to a lookout and looked out over the city. A lot of the area was flooded and it seemed very disrespectful to photograph that, so I didn’t.
Paraguay’s consitution was signed here. Cute little museum, now.
Presidential Palace
Lookout above Asuncion
We wandered through some souvenir shops and I was very excited to buy a souvenir teaspoon to add to my three-generation collection, and a very delicate filigree charm to add to the collection on my bracelet. (Jamie was much less excited to realise the teaspoon collection would one day become hers).
That night we headed into town with Karen for another car singalong, some shopping, and a quick cuppa. Then we all headed downstairs to Sofia’s 6th birthday, which was quite the affair.
Jamie, Karen and Dany’s cousin Susi soon decided not to leave all the fun to the kids:
I told Susi I wasn’t playing because I’m too old. She paused, then pointed to Karen, grinned, and said, “So’s she!”
Karen decided that Iker shouldn’t miss out.
And there was dinner, cake, amazing party bags and pinata that actually burst (note to my younger self: those things are so well known for not breaking, that the people who invented them just use balloons now).
After all the excitement, we headed home for Sofi to open presents. There, Dany & Vivi also surprised us with some lovely traditional souvenirs – things we had admired, but not purchased, that afternoon. And finally, Sofi and Susi gave us a fine rendition of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies,” with some help from Karen. Sofi told me she was “muy felicidad” (very happy) with her present, and even conceded that she might visit us in Australia, even though we don’t have dinosaurs.
We were really reluctant to head to bed that night. A few hours’ sleep, and Dany took us to the airport, where he squeezed my shoulder very tight right before I headed in to security. He’s promised that he and Vivi will come and see us soon … probably one January, when we can both obsess over the Australian Open together.
A while back I mentioned that I was heading overseas on a pretty special holiday. It has occurred to me that I should update before I forget every detail!
So one Friday I hopped on a train that was delayed, to catch a plane that was also delayed, which would have been fine, except that the Airline was frantically trying to get me onto an earlier flight in order to meet my connection but the delayed train meant that I didn’t make the check-in cut-off. So that was a very relaxing start. So the airline ended up just delaying the second flight, too, so that we could all get on it, which was great. By the time I landed in Buenos Aires I’d been travelling a bit over thirty hours and was very tired, hungry and with low blood sugar (turns out the diabetic meal was inedible – filing that one away for future reference, and have offered my feedback to the airline). I struggled to follow my daughter’s instructions to find the hidden ATM in the airport, and took out the amount of money she told me I would need for a taxi. I then headed out into the a very crowded space when a very nicely dressed gentleman asked me if I was looking for a taxi. Stop me if you can see where this one is going …
I replied that I was, and then he led me through McDonalds, saying the other way was closed. By this stage the slow-turning cogs in my brain had woken up the the fact that he didn’t have a lanyard or other airport ID. Then I saw the line for the actual taxis, but he was speeding past, dragging my bag and heading for the carpark. So I caught up and asked, “So you’re not a taxi? You’re more of an Uber?” He told me he was a car service licensed by the airport. We got to his car, a standard but clean sedan and I asked if the cost would be the same as a taxi. He said it was per kilometre. He didn’t say how much per kilometre. I did say that I only took out enough money for a taxi. He didn’t take that out.
Throughout the trip, he’s chatting and laughing and very amiable. Then we pulled up in a pretty deserted street in the middle of Buenos Aires and he’s telling me to walk back to my hotel (which I couldn’t see), and he taps into a calculator and shows me the amount: four times what my daughter had told me I needed. I showed him what I had and he kept saying no, no, it’s this amount. I kept repeating, “but this is all I have.” And then the nice act dropped and he started screaming at me in Spanish. I was locked into the car, and my luggage was locked in the boot. Stupidly, I had no plan B.
I kept asking him what he wanted me to do. I later learned that there are no ATMs on the street because they just attract robberies. He wasn’t suggesting any other options. I told him I didn’t know why he was yelling at me in Spanish when he knew I didn’t understand. He called me stupid and crazy, and then a “fucking American.” I told him I wasn’t a “fucking American” so he changed it to “fucking Australian.” He started telling me he wasn’t a stupid tourist, and I remember thinking that was probably a good thing, in his line of work. I told him to call the police, then.
Well, he certainly didn’t want to do that. So he announced he’d take me to the hotel. And I felt enormous relief, because I figured that the fact that I was a paying guest there might mean they would be looking for a solution. And I was right.
He stormed in and shouted at the young lad behind the desk all about me. I just looked at him and said, “I don’t know what to do.” He kept saying OK, and trying to reassure me, as best he could. I asked, “does anyone speak English” and the not-taxi driver yelled at me, “we don’t need English. I already told him about you.” Cool, so now I know he’s a bit of a narc as well – because clearly his failed attempt to rip me off is the only conversation I might need to have when checking in.
At some point, a dude built like a bouncer and a woman in about her thirties, carrying a sleeping child, appeared. Bouncer-man just talked to the not-taxi dude while the young guy behind the counter, Sanuel, tried to keep me calm. I could understand “only solution” and the calm, no-nonsense tone of the bouncer-like-guy (who was, I think, the manager and living onsite) and then Sanuel asked me if I had a credit card. And being thirty plus hours in, sleep-deprived, literal by nature and having been reading a lot of Scott Pape and Dave Ramsey lately, I said no. Eventually they took my debit card and I made a payment to the hotel, while the bouncer/manager peeled off notes and gave them to the not-taxi driver – around half what he had demanded. As soon as everyone left, so did my sense of terror, and I promptly burst into tears. Sanuel mimed for me to breathe, and then I headed upstairs to try to calm down and get something resembling sleep.
And that’s the story of how I thought I was going to be abducted, or worse, on my first night away.
Things looked better
after some carbs
and in the cold light of day.
The following morning, Sanuel was still on shift and made sure to check in with me and direct me to breakfast. Major props to the Hotel Master Suites Devoto for how well they handled the whole situation. I would definitely stay there again; I’d just be smarter about how I got there.
The following morning Jamie joined me and we crammed ourselves and our luggage into the tiniest Uber in history, and began our AFS-related adventures, thankfully with far fewer concerns. We headed out to Ministro Pistarini Airport, and over a big lunch and strong drink at the Hard Rock Cafe, she caught me up on her adventures over the preceding three weeks. Jamie being Jamie, she made friends with the waitress (who attended the same Uni as the one where Jamie did her program) and are now Instagram buddies. (The middle-aged equivalent is that the nice manager’s nice wife in the story above has messaged me via Facebook to thank me for the nice review I wrote about how they handled that whole disaster movie).
So off we headed to Chile; first to Santiago, and then off to Punta Arenas. Now, we did not do our usual level of research for this trip. We just tried to get ourselves to where the kids were, and we weren’t worried about tourist attractions because we only had about three days in each place.
Turns out Punta Arenas is nearly in Antarctica. You can go on a cruise to Antarctica from where we were.
Grace and her husband Yeovany and their little girl, Trini, were there to greet us at the airport. There was much hugging and a little crying, and then we went back to their home. Punta Arenas is a pretty, small city, with plenty of ocean views and more ice on the ground than I’ve ever had to deal with. This led to me landing flat on my back at one point–ironically, right outside a hospital, but I luckily didn’t need to go in!
Grace was a very attentive hostess and Yeovany took time off work to be home when we were visiting. Trini and I became good mates very quickly. We like to read and do puzzle together. I only know my colours in Spanish because of this book and our adventures searching for the chameleon hiding on each page.
Trini was a bit crook so we decided to save bigger adventures for another visit, and instead stayed relatively close to home. We kissed the foot of the statue of Tierra Del Fuego, so we know we’ll be back another time.
We wandered the city streets, starting down by the harbour (you can see the ice on the ground in many of these pictures) and bought churros and checked out the amazing views.
One of the suprising cultural adjustments for me was the number of stray dogs we saw on our travels. I just cannot remember ever having seen this in Australia, particularly not in cities. These three pooches sunning themselves so innocently were almost in every shot we took, and also running at cars. This is them relaxing after that busy morning.
The place was just beautiful, though.
After this, we headed out of the CBD and up to a lookout, where I had great fun watching Jamie trying to figure out which direction Australia was from where we were standing.
Queen of all she sees, wherever she is.
That night we stayed up very late, talking, laughing and drinking wine and later, pisco.
And then we realised it was snowing. It was snowing when we finally went to bed around 2am, and it was snowing when we got up at 5am to get ready and head to the airport. Now, the road to Grace’s place is in a state of disrepair that is pretty infamous. As in, we were in the car when Grace was interviewed by a news crew over how bad it was. If you look closely, you can see Jamie and Yeovany in the front seat of one of the cars in this news footage. Between the road and the snow, the drive to the airport was a pretty hairy one, and when we got there we were told that within an hour we’d know whether or not the runway would open. Luckily, it did.
And so we headed off to Paraguay on the next leg of our adventure, which I’ll add here next WordPress Wednesday.
Yes, I do have thoughts to write and share about my recent adventures in South America. No, that is not what this post will be about.
Today, we are going regional. Very regional. Today we’re talking about Merriwagga. Merriwagga: between Goolgowi and Hillston on the Kidman Way; home of the the Black Stump and the tallest bar in Australia, population 169. And I’m related to most of that 169, on my father’s side.
The social heart of Merriwagga
Around about a century ago, give or take, my Nanna’s family packed up and travelled overland from Omeo in Victoria to their own slice of rather red dirt in Merriwagga, which they named Omeo Park. Nan was in charge of looking after what she referred to for the rest of her life as “that blasted goat,” while her younger brothers got to sit in the cart with her mother. Nan then lived there until she married my Pop when she was 28. She was one of the first students at the Merriwagga School, and made her way back out there for the school’s 75th anniversary. I have one of her book prizes from school on my shelf. There are boxes and boxes of family history info that she collected, that none of us have quite known what to do with in the intervening decade.
Not long after they arrived in Merriwagga, they lost their eldest son, Robert, and Nan became the de facto oldest child. Her three younger brothers, Kevin, Roy & Cec would all serve in the Second World War, and remarkably, all returned and lived to be quite elderly men. I have recollections of meeting all of them, but some are rather faint. Twenty years ago I went out to Merriwagga for a visit and was urged to go and see Uncle Kevin in a local nursing home, and I had to ask the staff which one he was, because I hadn’t seen him since I was a small child.
Our relationship with Uncle Roy was different. I have a very clear memory of Dad taking us to see Uncle Roy and Aunty Tid (yep, she’s tiny!) when I was in primary school, and of him being very excited. I also recall being about 14 and him being at my Nan’s house and suddenly addressing me in Japanese, which I was learning at the time. Turns out he’d been stationed in Japan during the post-War Occupation, a fact of which I was completely unaware. And that was my Uncle Roy – constantly surprising me with little snippets from his very interesting life. And he managed to get me a good one this week, almost seven years to the day after his passing. But more on that later.
Growing up, we were pretty nomadic. I was born in Western Australia; my brother in Queensland. After that we moved to New South Wales but my mum wised up. My mother had been born and raised in the same house in Bligh St, Wollongong, and so Wollongong became very familiar to me, and was a large part of the reason why I chose UOW when I came out of school. My father had also had a rather nomadic upbringing, because his father worked for State Rail. The place to which he returned and felt that sense of familiar belonging was Merriwagga. There are photos of him out there, looking young and tan and relaxed, with a bunch of much younger cousins climbing on him. When I did a family history project in Year 8, I included photos of my mother, young and beautiful, with very long brunette hair, very large sunnies, a massive smile and a very short mini skirt, posing next to the Black Stump.
Black Stump, no Mum. Must locate those photos.
Apparently Dad took her out there to get familial approval at some point quite late in their courtship. And she, the city girl, got quite the introduction to regional life; going pig shooting with the cousins and swimming in dams, among other things.
She also talks fondly of Aunty Tid taking her on a tour of the Letona factory in nearby Leeton, where Tid’s irreverent sense of humour took centre stage. In one area, so the story goes, there were massive conveyor belts in every direction. Tid reportedly decided that it was all a show for the tour groups, and the conveyor belts weren’t actually going anywhere but around the room, and challenged Mum to track one can and see where it actually went.
Canning peaches in Leeton
So Mum speaks of Tid’s humour. Dad talks fondly of her cooking – how she would cook an amazing meal for around fourteen men, and wait to see who turned up at lunchtime. I always associate her with extreme kindness. Aunty Tid and Uncle Roy had a bunch of kids, some biological and some adopted. I couldn’t tell you who was who because I don’t know. It never mattered. In recent years, she passed along a message via one of her daughters that I was to keep sending Christmas updates, because she looks forward to them so — she has lost her eyesight, but makes sure someone reads them to her. Twenty years ago at my brother’s wedding I overhead her tell my Nanna conspiratorially: “Kimberley’s really lovely, isn’t she?” Now every time you visited, my Nanna would crush you in a a surprisingly iron-like, rather bony hug to show her affection, but like many in our family, articulating that stuff in words was not such a strong suit. To hear her agree with Aunty Tid has been a precious gift that I can call on in my roughest of rough days. That these two very amazing, very tough women thought I had value jolts me into remembering that when I need to.
So this week I saw a post on Facebook from one of Roy & Tid’s kids, my (second) cousin Jackie, who, like her parents, is just an amazing person, saying that the area around Hay, Hell and Booligal (the name of a book that was always lying around Nan’s house!) was being featured on Back Roads. I looked up from my phone and said to my husband, “Merriwagga’s going to be on Back Roads. Now.”
And he changed the channel. We were rewarded within about a minute and a half with Heather Ewart (wife of Saint Barrie of Insiders) announcing that she was heading to Merriwagga.
Ewart began to introduce The Black Stump Hotel, which has the tallest bar in the Southern Hemisphere. I said to my husband, “so you can ride a horse up to it.” The publican, onscreen, explained that there were two theories–one was to stop the railway workers jumping over the bar, but that locals believed another story. And in rode a bloke on a horse, to have a beer while still on the horse. I laughed and said to my husband: “See? I know the local story.”
Heather’s look of shock mirrors mine a moment later
So they introduce a local, Lance, who tells the story of how his grandfather was droving stock and popped in for a beer without dismounting one day. And I’m not paying much attention–remember how I said Roy and Tid had a whole bunch of kids? Well some of them were girls, and I don’t know their married names or how many kids they had. And then it cuts to Heather introducing footage of said grandfather in a BBC movie from the early 70s, repeating the drinking at the bar on horseback stunt. And she introduces Lance’s grandfather as Roy Little.
I let out a bit of a squeal and burst into tears as I yelled, “it’s Uncle Roy” as my husband says, “I’ll record it.”
Seems the story about riding a horse up to the bar I was told as a kid was missing one major detail.
A horse …
… and his Roy. Credit: ABC Bakc Roads
You can catch this brilliant piece of Australian television (and my family history) on ABC’s iView service. I believe it’s also being replayed this week.
Forgive me, Readers, for it is WordPress Wednesday, and it has been six weeks since my last post. SIX! Does that make me a lapsed WordPresser?
So, what’s my excuse? Well, the excuses are plentiful and varied. June was something of a blur, as Roslyn and I from Shapeshifters in Popular Culture have been working very hard on finishing off our latest book, which is all about how mental illness is represented (or misrepresented, or just ignored) on TV. And it’s very nearly done. Ros is putting the finishing touches to the chapter on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder but it has otherwise all been collated into one document and I’m sorting out referencing and so on (the joys!). As soon as we’re both happy with it, it’s off to the person we very much hope will agree to write the Foreword, and then it will be winging its way through cyberspace to our wonderful publishers at McFarland.
So I was working on that until June 30, and then from July 2, I was in Melbourne for the tenth annual PopCAANZ conference. I presented some of our work from the book at this year’s event; specifically, looking at the representation of clinical depression in You’re the Worst. This series is not very well known in Australia–literally no one in the audience had watched it!–but it is well worth the effort. I’ve talked my husband into watching it, and he’s really enjoying the quirky, non-traditional characters. As well as being quite unlikeable in the conventional sense, two of the four leads have diagnosed mental illness, and are living under the same roof.
Gretchen (Aya Cash) meets Jimmy (Chris Geere) in the pilot of You’re the Worst.
Now, hold on to your hats for this “spoiler”- the show actually does a pretty realistic depiction of clinical depression, including periods where Gretchen is asymptomatic, and periods where she lies in bed. The latter is really significant; despite being the single most prevalent mental health disorder in the word, we haven’t really seen much depression in screen because people lying in bed doesn’t move narratives forward. In fact, I would argue that we didn’t really see it at all until as recently as 2015.
Ian Gallagher (Cameron Monaghan), Shameless (US); Gretchen Cutler (Aya Cash), You’re the Worst.
So, in the ten days since Melbourne, what have I been up to? Well, lots of meetings, and lots of driving between Wollongong, Nowra and the Southern Highlands. The pace has been pretty intense, because I’m about to head off on some much-anticipated leave, so there are a lot of loose ends that are frantically being tied (or at least, we are trying to tie them).
My daughter is currently in Buenos Aires, doing a subject for her University course. And she invited me to join her for a few days at the end of her course, so that we can go and visit my “bonus children” who live in South America.
You see, once upon a time many, many years ago, I was fortunate enough to go to Japan for a year on a high school exchange with the AFS International, on a scholarship generously provided by the Tokyo Municipal Government. It was an amazing experience, and I met some of my very best friends there (and in fact, recently caught up with one in Melbourne!). I expanded my horizons, my language abilities, my family and yes, my waistline (we used to joke that AFS stood for ‘another fat student.’) And while there are some ancient photos from that time, they are all analogue and not with me.
I remained involved in the organisation for a few years, and then when we moved to Nowra and I knew absolutely nobody bar my (working) husband and own (infant) child, I got in touch with the local branch and introduced myself. Here, I met another really special friend, Sue. Sue’s job in this volunteer organisation was to find host families for incoming students; mine was to prepare the outgoing ones. And every year she would see me start to waver and want to host a student and she would remind me that no, our little family couldn’t really afford the time or financial commitment for six months or a year. But I became her go-to as a support mum (another person outside the host-family; a kind of counsellor, who has typically also been on exchange), temporary mum (when students were moving between placements); or billet mum (if a student was coming to a regional event in the Shoalhaven). And so that’s why, if you know me, you know I have two biological children, even though Facebook shows me as having five. And that’s why three of those kids are in their thirties when I am only in my forties myself, and why I have four grandchildren (and a fifth coming next month), despite the just-turned-adult nature of my two bio-kids.
So, the upshot of all that is that on Saturday, these two “sisters” will see each other in person for the first time in 18 years.
Jamie & Grace, December 2001
Grace is now married with a daughter of her own, who is almost exactly the same age as Jamie in this photo.
After our whistle-stop tour of Chile, we’re off to Paraguay to see my son Dany and meet his lovely wife and two kids. His daughter is very thoughtfully having her sixth birthday while we are there, so we get to go to a party!
And when we get home, there’s about a week until my other international child has her second baby. I’ve been really fortunate to be able to catch up with Ellyn (and indeed, her entire family) a few times over the years, both in the US and here. And Jamie and I managed to get to the US to meet her little first little one, so I’m pretty determined to get over there and witness firsthand the new big sister/little brother dynamic.
The AFS Effect in Action: Bride Ellyn flanked by her Australian “brother” and “mother,” and her actual parents, Marsha and Mike, whom we also love and consider family.
And as for my bio-daughter, my current golden child because she invited me to tag along on her South American adventures? Well, her love of travel might date back to being “impressed” like a chick by these well-travelled older siblings, who came into her life when she was two or three years old. She too became an exchange student via AFS when she was just 15. She had an amazing time in the beautiful Matera region in the South of Italy. You can see the ancient Sassi region, one of the oldest inhabited areas in the world, from the town centre.
Pretty special.
This past (Australian) Summer, she and her brother headed to Europe for nigh on three months. Tony and I joined them for a month over Christmas and New Year, and were very privileged to spend Christmas with her Italian family.
L, Front to back: Imma (aunt), Luisa (sister), Mariangela (mum), Michele (dad), Cecilia (cousin), Carlo (brother), Pierluca (uncle). R, Front to back: Anna (sister), Jamie, Robert, Ester (cousin), Kimberley, Tony.
All this to say– there won’t be a post next Wednesday, either. But I will have the very best of excuses!
So Winter has officially started this week in the Southern Hemisphere –with some force, I might add–and this week also marks the end of the Autumn semester at UOW. Side note — it really is the end of “Autumn Semester,” because from 2020 we are apparently retiring the term and going with the more numerical “Semester 1” and “Semester 2.”
Leichhardt St, Blackheath – one block from where I grew up. In 1983 we were on the Channel 10 news for playing in the snow like this on the way to school, at this exact location. (Which now makes me wonder what on earth our parents were thinking, sending us to school in conditions like these!). Photo credit: The Blue Mountains Gazette (online).
To mark the (almost)-end of the semester, we’re running various feel-good options at campuses this week. And we’ve been around the traps long enough to know what students like: free food!
No name tags required; all welcome.
It’s been pretty cold up in Moss Vale, so the campus has been supplying students with warming home-made soups all week. Campus Manager Stephen and Admin Assistant Erin have added making hearty soups to their busy schedules this week.
In the Shoalhaven, we went for a winter BBQ, with a special cake to mark the end of some students’ degrees. Big thanks to Heidi and the team at Cafe on Campus for their efforts.
Best of luck to all of our students as they put the final touches to their assignments, and start serious exam preparation. Remember, if you are a UOW student but live near a regional campus (Moss Vale, Nowra, Batemans Bay or Bega), you are welcome to use our facilities and resources when you’re studying. We know that studying at home alone can be both isolating and distracting, but you don’t have to go it alone: utilise the options on your doorstep.
And to my own children: both the above messages apply to you, too.
There’s been a real buzz in the air at UOW-Shoalhaven, because today is Graduation Day. I love graduating so much I’ve done it several times now (Four, I believe. I did deliberately miss one when it was mid-Summer and I was significantly pregnant with Child the Younger).
UOW PhD 2009
UNSW M Ed 2017
These days, I’m not walking across the stage, so much as sitting on it and cheering for those who do. It’s pretty sweet from this side, but there’s a lot of work goes on behind the scenes to make it happen. Our campus manager and Admin staff all have critical roles to play to make sure that everyone is where they need to be, wearing what they need to wear, and receiving an appropriate amount of pomp and ceremony.
Our groundskeeper, maintenance go-to and all round good guy, Troy, always used to say Graduation was like Christmas, because all those jobs you could kind of live with, suddenly become urgent and have a deadline. Now, Troy’s one of those people who just keeps going until the job’s done, so in the good old days when Graduation was on campus, he would be out here weekdays, evenings, and weekends, trying to get everything looking its absolute best.
2009 Graduation Celebration on campus, with graduating siblings Alan & Simone
Graduation at the SEC, 2010, with Scott.
Today, Troy had a slightly different role. He’s still been running around doing stuff, sure. He spent time cutting a whole bunch of gum tips and taking them over to the Entertainment Centre, where we have held our ceremonies since 2010. But today his daughter walked across the stage. She is a first-in-family graduate and one of our great success stories. She’s a favourite of all us here at UOW-Shoalhaven, of course, because we’ve been hearing of her adventures, and those of her brother and sister, for many years. But long before I was hearing those stories, she was a senior high school student coming to English tutoring after school. And I was her tutor. It was an absolute delight to catch up with her today. Another of my former students was there today; she threw me a special wave as she passed by, and I clapped extra hard. We caught up afterwards for a photo. The thing about we teachers is, when we talk about “our kids,” we don’t just mean the biological ones. I was bursting with pride to see two of “mine” walk the stage.
So proud of “my” Mahalia. Also yes, I forgot to sit properly for pretty much the entire ceremony. Photo credit: Leanne Windsor.
Now, as a kid I moved—a lot. Homes, schools, states—my Dad was an engineer who routinely moved to a new company and a new mineral. The great and unexpected delight I have found from living in the same regional area for more than two decades is that I get to really know people, and they resurface in your life unexpectedly. Simone in the photo up there? She and I had kids on the same soccer team. Scott in the photo above became my son’s baseball coach. Troy and I were on the Relay for Life committee together. Last year, I saw the last of the student cohorts I had taught at UOW graduate, and I was sad, because it felt like the end of an era. But when you live in a community like this, there are always connections with the graduates, so it is always special and you always have “kids” who are “yours,” even though they are now graduated, employed, bill-paying adults.
Today was also nostalgic for another reason. One of my fellow graduates from the 1995 Graduate Diploma of Education cohort, the Honourable Mr Jihad Dib, Member for Lakemba and NSW Shadow Minister for Education, was our guest speaker. I’m in the process of sharing with him a series of photos from our Dip Ed year wherein we look somewhat more casual than we do below.
Garry H, Sandy & Garry M, me, Paul, Melissa, and the Hon. Jihad, back in the day. Garry H & I mark the HSC together, and Paul and I were teacher-educators together. Clearly we were a very talented bunch!
He and I were sitting close to the centre of the stage, and we could hear snippets of the graduates’ conversations with the Deputy Chancellor. The vast majority are already employed, are in caring professions, and are happy with how their work life is developing, which is just amazing. Jihad then addressed the graduates, speaking passionately and from the heart. He spoke about the importance of working to help others, and never losing sight of that. He also talked about seeing the positive, and remembering that sometimes, we can be the one person in someone’s day who reacts with compassion.
I think his speech resonated with many today, and it certainly resonated with me. I’m pretty sure than on our own Graduation Day, neither of us thought we’d be in the positions we are now. But we both wanted to work with learners, and in our own ways, we both still get to do that. And while neither of us can remember the Occasional Address from our own graduation, I suspect that some of yesterday’s graduates might remember his. Thank you, Jihad.
Photo credit: Sean Maguire.
Can you recall the speeches from your own Graduation? What advice would you give to young graduates? What advice would you give your younger self?
Sound off in the comments below.
I’ve mentioned before that I look after the regional campuses of UOW. Well, I have “strategic oversight.” That means I read stuff, plot, and write stuff. It’s kind of a cool job because I’ve always been interested in giving extra help to students who may not have had the easiest path to education, and when you work in regional areas, you get to help quite a few of those.
One of the regional sites is UOW-Batemans Bay, and one of the very great perks of my job is that I get to come here to work, sometimes.
A local.
My association with the Bay goes back a long way. Like most people who grew up in New South Wales, I have vivid memories of coming here on a holiday as a child. Many years later, we started bringing our own children here.
Clyde River cruise, 2010. Photo credit: Ellyn Quinn
Then in 2008 I took up the position of Learning Development lecturer in Batemans Bay, one day per week. I would get up early, leave the kids with a high school aged friend and trust they all got on the bus together, then head down the Highway. I spent my day offering learning support to students who were under-confident, and seeing their delight when they started to see their marks improve. It was a great job, but when I was offered 2 days a week doing the same thing but for students with Disabilities on the Wollongong campus, it was contingent on not continuing to do 4 hours of commute + an eight hour day in the other direction, as well.
In 2017 I secured my current position, and so I now get to travel to Batemans Bay and interact with the staff and students a couple of times each semester. One of my former students is now a staff member, supporting younger students. It is lovely to see that cycle of learning and teaching continuing.
In addition to its fine tradition in learning and teaching, UOW-Batemans Bay has serious props when it comes to community engagement. Community Engagement Grants from UOW have funded projects like the Possum Skin Cloak, which has pride of place in the campus foyer, and on stage at graduations.
Professor Paul Chandler, Adam Gowan, and Saskia Ebejer congratulating the authors of “Grandfather’s Gully.”
I’m very proud to have a copy of Grandfather’s Gully on my shelf– it is a cracking read. And it turns out that it may just be only the first book in this series, because publishers are seeking to expand the program to other areas and languages. UOW-Batemans Bay might be a small campus, but they have big ideas. And good ones.
I missed blogging last week. I have three WordPress sites–two associated with co-authored books, and this one. I’m endeavouring to post in at least one of them each Wednesday, but my fledgeling routine’s been a bit derailed recently.
First, my husband has a pretty extended stay in hospital. Next, I heard that my dear friend and mentor, Jack Fisher, had passed away. Jack was my across-the-road neighbour when we first moved to Nowra. In fact, when we heard that our first house was for sale (we bought from my spouse’s colleague) we did a drive-by, even though we knew the colleague was away. She later told us that as soon as they pulled up in the driveway, Jack was over there to tell them that someone had been cruising past slowly. It was like the ultimate in Neighbourhood Watch! Jack and his lovely wife Esma were a big part of our lives when our kids were little; and I’ve often joked that my kids thought Jack and Esma were their grandparents for quite a while. Certainly they came to the kids’ parties, my son’s christening, and so on. And then, in 2004, when my daughter was in kindy at the local school around the corner and my son was just 3, I was diagnosed with choriocarcinoma. And one night I heard a knock on the door and there was Esma (who is tiny and a bit feisty), proferring a bowl of home-made soup. She told me she thought she’d seen a bald head from across the road, and why hadn’t I told her, and proceeded to tell me all about accommodation near the Wollongong hospital, and the wig library.
You see, Jack and Esma had been around this particular block a few times. I’m not sure of the final tally of Jack’s “cancer events,” as he called them, but I do know that they started in the 1980s.
With Master 3, mid-chemo treatment. Photo: Tony Coleman
In 2005, I asked the family and friends who had been so supportive if they would like to come and spend a weekend at our local showground, catching up and raising money for the Cancer Council. Jack and I had a conversation on the front lawn one day where I told him about this plan and innocently asked if he’d heard of the event. He told me that he was on the organising committee.
Relay 1.0: 2005. Photo credit: Tony Coleman
Turns out Jack was the father of Relay in the Shoalhaven, and the first ambassador. He served on the committee for well over a decade, and I later joined it, too. He supervised we the valued few as we made mass fruit salad at ridiculous hours of the morning. We were prone to singing, making sometimes bawdy and often terrible jokes and being rather loud, as people who have had no sleep at all are sometimes wont to do, and Jack was our “supervisor.” Really, he spent most of his time telling other people to leave us alone, and occasionally telling us how many more rockmelons there were, or how much time we had left until the hungry hordes would arrive for breakfast. With Jack at the helm, we were always ready on time.
Jack and me in his final outing on the committee, and my final one as Chair of the local Relay for Life. Photo credit: Damian McGill, South Coast Register
Jack only stepped down from the Relay committee two years ago, at the age of 88; the same day I hung up my very large, fetching, and sunsafe hat as the Chair and handed over to the amazing Cathy Lucas. I loved and respected Jack enormously, and was always so pleased to catch up with him.
In the same week as Jack’s funeral, I had to fly interstate after the sudden death of my uncle and godfather, another man whom I loved dearly and who taught me so much about what is important in life: family, laughter, speaking your truth, and never refusing a social drink. When you combine these two losses, an unwell husband, my usual busy life and some unexpected stuff at work, it was not a great week or so. But I had amazing support from my friends and colleagues, because the thing about regional people is: they step up, and they always seek to find solutions. A colleague picked my son up from work so that I could make it to the hospital–over an hour away–during visiting hours. Meetings were moved to accommodate my suddenly fluid work week. Texts were sent to make sure I was doing OK and asking for help when needed.
This weekend, we were back at Relay. The weather was pretty rugged, but we soldiered on, found the humour, and kept everyone safe, even as things that were not supposed to be airborne sometimes became airborne. I’m no longer on the committee officially, but after all these years, I step in and help where I can. And I love being in the front office. I love sitting up beside my “Relay Mum,” Denise, in the middle of the night, and talking life, politics, the universe, and everything. I love that in the emotional moments, the committee members will notice and hug each other, and then get back to it. I particularly love that my children (who now live in Wollongong), will turn up every year and be there. In fact, my daughter was thanked in the program this year for her support, because the Chair figured that she would turn up, and knew that whilever she was there, she’d be helping.
Our “Hope” sign, courtesy of IJED Electrical & Pearce and Percy Construction – Photo Credit: Nowra Relay for Life
During the Twilight ceremony, my daughter wept openly as she saw photos of both Jack and another committee member, Pud, whom we lost a few years ago. I had a moment of pure mother guilt, that I had inadvertently brought this grief into her life. With some sleep and some clarity, today I can see the blessings and pride in knowing that I brought these wonderful people into her life, and yes, we may now be grieving for them, but the wonder is that we had them in our lives for the time that we did. This past weekend pretty much sums up what I love about both regional living, and the Relay for Life: both involve caring for each other, stepping up, being resourceful, and being hopeful.
To my fellow Relayers: rest up today. We’ve earned it. See you on the track next year.
If you’d like to know more about our family’s experience with cancer, my daughter has written about it here. (You can also make online donations via this link).
It’s the most wonderful time of the (academic) year … O-week! A new batch of students are hitting our campuses, juggling feelings of excitement, trepidation and occasionally, downright confusion.
This year I’m feeling particularly old, since my youngest is among those being “Orientated” at my alma mater (and current employer). His older sister is also there, busy representing (and recruiting for) the Law Students Society and UOW Cheer. She was snapped by one of the photographers at Tuesday’s festivities.
So casual.
That afternoon, the new enrollee and a couple of his mates headed off to the UOW: Wollongong Pool Party, hosted by UniActive.
Apparently he’s in there somewhere.
On the regional campuses, we don’t achieve quite this scale. We have had some orientation and “immersion” activities this week, but we won’t get the market stall vibe until “W” (Welcome) Week in a fortnight. Sidenote: if you’re in the Shoalhaven and you’d like to have a stall, let the campus manager know. We are looking to build our community days throughout the year.
Life at my desk is somewhat less exciting than marquees and inflatable floating unicorns, but nevertheless there is still quite a lot going on. In an attempt to get on top of competing book / work / fellowship / strategy deadlines, I’ve enrolled in an online short course that promises to help me organise my academic life. It is one of a series of courses run by Dr Cathy Mazak from the University of Puerto Rico. I’ve also joined her Academic Women’s Writing Collective. This has kept me–well, if not on track, then at least within sight of it. For the past several months, I hop online with other female academics twice a week, we mute our machines and get writing. Lately I’ve been doing a lot more reading and note-taking than actual typing, but I’m hoping to rectify that tomorrow. I also have an Accountability Partner because it’s embarrassing to say out loud to another human: “These were my goals this week and I met none of them,” but I seem to be able to have that interior monologue just fine.
This time last week I was sitting in an all day training session, learning about Advance HE’s academic fellowship program. So while putting the finishing touches to my probation (tenure) application related to this role, I’ll also be completing some quite strenuous writing tasks about educational leadership which will be necessary if I ever want to go for promotion. As crazy as it is to be doing both at the same time, I am hopeful that they will feed into each other.
And so, like many of our undergraduate and postgraduate students, I find myself frantically trying to get organised this week, before semester kicks off in earnest. To all of us: Good Luck. And to all our students, new and returning: a very warm welcome. May it be an adventure.
Canning peaches in Leeton
Regional Adventures 