Snow Gums
Leaning, spreading, snow gums provide a modicum of shade over the car park at Rennix Gap.

One of the many beauties of Kosciuszko National Park in Australia’s alpine Snowy Mountains, is the assortment of walking trails. This makes it easy to find a walk to suit the weather, one’s mood, and the abilities of any walking companions.

The 6.5 kilometre walk from Rennix Gap to a Snowy Hydro radio repeater station, high on a ridge, is not a track I follow often. Although it is a pleasant 4-5 hour walk out and back, there are some moderately challenging inclines, and the lower areas can be very boggy and wet. When I have guests, I usually pick an easier walk or one with more dramatic views.

Having said that, the Rennix Walk is the first place I ever spotted the vibrant flame robin, or saw an echidna in the wild, and the track winds through some very pretty landscape. It was a sunny afternoon in early November – that is: late spring in the antipodes – the last time my husband and I decided to make the trek.

Rennix Walk follows an old management trail and starts by crossing grassy flats.

You need to stay on the track: the ground is boggy and wet – especially after the snow melts of spring.

Got the essentials? Hat, sunscreen, water, bug spray, and we might want the walking sticks on the hills.

Sawpit Creek winds its way through the boggy plain.

The trail climbs up through bush and snow gums and past giant granite boulders.

The “bridge” over Stewarts Creek comprises some well-weathered boards.

From Lakes Creek Saddle there are views across the wetlands to Kosciuszko’s Main Range.

The alpine plants and snow grasses spring to life in the ground water soaking down from the surrounding hills.

The bark of the stately snow gums is always a work of natural abstract art.

Fallen trees are part of the cycle of the landscape.

The Reddish Bog Heath (epacris glacialis) [I think?] has just started blooming.

The walk rises up and crosses gorse-filled clearings.

The Leafy Bossiaea (bossiaea foliosa) [I think?] has also started to flower.

I have no idea what the growth at the base of this tree trunk is, but it made for some interesting textures.

The top of Giants Castle affords great views, but the ascent is only recommended for experienced climbers.

From a safer rocky vantage point, there are nice views of Lake Jindabyne, far below.

The landscape in the other direction stretches out over the Snowy River and up to the Main Range.

The next granite outcrop, which to me looks like a pair of rabbits, signals that we are close to the apex.

The top of the walk is marked by a rather un-photogenic repeater station, which sits atop more granite boulders. Again, the climb can be a little challenging, so we opted for a short sit and a muesli bar before returning back the way we had come.

Snow Daisies (brachyscome nivalis) are scattered across the ground.

Alpine Rusty-Pods (hovea montana) stand out against the alpine grasses.

Once we are back at Lakes Creek Saddle, we know it is all a gentle walk downhill.

White Purslane (neopaxia australasica) dots the granite-strewn path as we head back to the car.

In short, it was an enjoyable afternoon, and we were able to bask in self satisfaction as we clinked our glasses over dinner that evening.

To your health!

Pictures: 11November2012

Sacagawea and Baby Jean Baptist
Sculpture by Glenna Goodacre (b. 1931), Buffalo Bill Historical Center, Cody, WY

The Wild West is a place of legends and stories…

Few are more moving than that of Sacagawea (Bird Woman), the Lemhi Shoshone woman, kidnapped in 1800 by a raiding party of Hidatsa when she was about 12, and a year later, given or sold, along with another young captive Shoshone girl, to Toussaint Charbonneau, a French Canadian trapper. Thirty-four year old Charbonneau was hardly a prime catch: six years earlier he had been stabbed by an old Saultier woman for raping her daughter.

In 1804, Lewis and Clark hired Charbonneau as an interpreter for their expedition to explore the Western United States, because Shoshone-speaking Sacagawea was part of the deal. She gave birth to her first child, Jean Baptist, February 11, 1805, before the expedition set off, and the child travelled with her across the country. “Meriwether Lewis called [Charbonneau] ”a man of no peculiar merit”.” Sacagawea, on the other hand, so impressed Lewis and Clark when she rescued their journals, records and other materials from the Missouri River after a boat capsized, that they named the Sacagawea River in her honour.

In American popular history, Sacagawea is an integral part of the Lewis and Clark story: in the early twentieth century, the National American Woman Suffrage Association adopted her as a symbol of women’s worth and independence; in 2000, the United States Mint issued the Sacagawea dollar coin in her honour; and in 2001, then-president Bill Clinton gave her the title of Honorary Sergeant, Regular Army.

I suppose if I were an American, I’d have know more about Sacagawea before visiting Wyoming – in the Wild West, the place of legends and stories…

Watch for Fallen Rock
The road out of Yellowstone National Park and into the rest of Wyoming lead us through a magnificent rocky landscape.

Like a scene out of a Western movie, rocky outcrops overwhelm the road. We have arrived in frontier country.

We found a motel in Cody, Wyoming, and parked our little sedan next to the Harley Davidson motorcycles and Mack trucks in the car park. Taking the desk clerk’s advice on eateries, we headed down the road to Cassie’s Roadhouse, a typically western-looking bar with a cowboy on a bucking bronco in neon over the front door…  and a huge parrot on the sign over the drive-in entry.

Here we learned about another woman who managed to succeed against the odds. Cassie Welsh moved to Cody with her father and married a local engineer in 1907. He died shortly thereafter, so she opened a “Ladies of the Night” house in central Cody. She later moved to the current Roadhouse on the West Strip, where she owned and ran the genteely-named Cassie’s Supper Club until her death in 1952. She is fondly remembered locally as “a lovely lady who always helped people”.

The parrot became a trademark of the next owners, who had brought two live birds from Brazil – as one does.

The restaurant was full when we arrived, and rather than wait we decided to sit in the bar, next to the wooden dance floor where two couples were about to practice. I thought we might be up for some line-dancing or a country two-step, but no! On Tuesdays, the local dance champion and instructor gives free lessons;  next thing we knew, we were brushing up our cha cha. In Wild West Cody!

It was far too much fun, and we never made it to the city’s nightly rodeo.

The next morning, we allocated some time to visit the Buffalo Bill Historical Center.

Not enough time, as it turns out. It is for good reason that the entry ticket is valid for two days: the complex of five museums in one building has been described by The New York Times as “among the nation’s most remarkable museums.” (Edward Rothstein, New York Times, August 3, 2012).

Grizzly Bear
We entered the Buffalo Bill Historical Center through the Draper Museum of Natural History which depicts various aspects of the Greater Yellowstone area. We found it fascinating after having just been in the National Park itself.

Enter the ultimate Wild West legend: Buffalo Bill Cody, a name synonymous with the history of the American West.

He was born William Frederick Cody in 1846, of Quaker parents. From 1853, his family lived in Kansas, where they were regularly persecuted for their outspoken anti-slavery stance. When Cody was 11, he became the main breadwinner after his father died of complications from injuries inflicted by a pro-slavery supporter. He worked, first as a ”boy extra” – a message runner – for a freight carrier, then as a scout during the Utah War, where he gained his reputation as a an “Indian fighter”.

Cody’s colourful career is a mix of fact and “spin”. He earned his “Buffalo Bill” nickname by killing 4,280 American Bison in only 18 months (1867–1868) while he was contracted to the Kansas Pacific Railroad to supply them with meat for their workers. Not long after, Ned Buntline’s serialised stories and dime-novels turned a loosely fictionalised version of “Buffalo Bill” into a national folk hero.

By age 26, Cody had been awarded a Medal of Honor for “gallantry in action” while serving as a civilian scout. The same year, he made his stage debut in The Scouts of the Prairie, one of Buntline’s original Wild West shows. During the 1873–1874 season, ”Wild Bill” Hickok joined Cody and “Texas” Omohundro in a new play called Scouts of the Plains.

Ten years later Cody founded his own “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West” show, which was staged, in one form or another, across the US and in Europe until 1908. Looking through the exhibits and memorabilia, I was amazed at the breadth and depth of performers he engaged. Fancy riders from all over the world; Western figures whose names I recognised, like Calamity Jane and Annie Oakley; Native Americans like Sitting Bull. Buffalo Bill’s troupe was successful at popularising “The West” in the US and Europe, making his persona an American icon and an international celebrity.

Like other figures who are larger than life, Cody’s legacy is a mixed one. Although responsible for thousands of buffalo deaths, he actively supported conservation, spoke out against hide-hunting, and pushed for a regulated hunting season. He was known as an “Indian fighter” but he respected Native Americans and their rights. He is quoted as saying: “Every Indian outbreak that I have ever known has resulted from broken promises and broken treaties by the government.” He was castigated as a drunkard, a fraud, a bad businessman and a racist. But while he made and lost fortunes, he was generous to a fault. He supported women’s rights and payed them, and the Native Americans and foreign nationals in his traveling show, according to merit, not race or gender.

He died in 1917, a Western legend – but almost broke.

The city of Cody, and it’s wonderful museum, is only a small part of his contribution to the American West.

Scout’s Gear
Long hair, to protect the eyes and ears; long coat for warmth; and long rifles for more accurate, powerful shots at enemy or game.

Hon. W.F. Cody Uniform and Saddle

“The Buffalo Bill Combination”
Western showmanship: Props from one of Buffalo Bill’s shows.

Annie Oakley’s Gloves
Costume from one of “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West” shows.

Luxury Tenting
View inside an American Army Scout’s base-camp tent, Buffalo Bill Historical Center.

Portable Tent
Smaller tents were used for scouting forays.

Cody called Native Americans: “the former foe, present friend, the American”.

The Plains Indian Museum section of the Buffalo Bill Historical Center depicts the history and culture of Native Americans, while highlighting their place in modern America.

Dog Soldier Feather Bonnet
Visitors examine the exhibits in the Plains Indian Museum section of the Buffalo Bill Historical Center.

Plains Indian Tent

Ancient “New World” Corns 

Beaded Papoose Carriers

Woman’s Work
A Plains woman on horseback, with a travois.

Cowrie-Shell Embellished Dress
Quill working, hide painting and bead working demonstrated women’s skills, and their pride and love for their families.

Man’s Cape

Fury ~ Man and Horse

Buffalo Bill
The sculpture of a very dapper Bill Cody outside the Buffalo Bill Historical Center bids us good-bye.

Wolf Howling
Another enduring symbol of the American West…

Reluctantly, after a great lunch in the cafeteria, we set off, out of the Buffalo Bill Historical Center, out of Cody, and east – out of Wyoming…

Wyoming Prairies and Mesa

Highway I-14 East

Shell Creek
The low point, before the rise into the Bighorn Mountains.

Into a Snow Cloud
The road through the Bighorn Mountains disappears… Middle of summer, but they say it’s going to snow tonight!

The Wild West is not for everyone.

‘Till next time!

Pictures: 15August2012

Castlegregory Beach
One of Ireland’s longest beaches: from Cloghane Village to the Maharees and Castlegregory.

Rain.

It was day nine of our walk around the Dingle Peninsula last June, and once again we woke up to rain.

Soft, misty, Irish rain – but coat-soaking, bone-chilling, camera-splattering rain even so. Not my idea of beach weather! My walking boots were still wet from crossing bogs the day before, so the overcast skies had me feeling less than cheerful.

According to our trip notes, we were up for a 29 kilometre walk, with 11 kilometres of it (or 11 miles – depending on whom you believe) along Castlegregory Beach. In the rain.

Day 9: Cloghane to Castlegregory

A long but not a demanding day, dominated by Irelands longest beach, with fantastic views of both sea and mountains and the off shore Maharees Islands.
 Local birds include seabirds (several species of seagull, shags, cormorants, gannets to name but a few), larks, starlings, curlews, crows, ravens, garden birds such as sparrows, robins and finches, and wading birds such as the heron. The swallow is a frequent visitor in the summer months, all to be seen on this walk.

Distance: 29 km/18 miles, Ascent: 40m/120 ft





River Owenmore
Everything was fresh – and wet – as we set out on our walk from Cloghane, Ireland.

Castlegregory Beach
One small patch of blue beckons us as we start our traverse along the beach skirting Brandon Bay.

Textures
Wind whips up the wet sand over the creatures stranded by the last high tide.

Castlegregory Beach
Two hours into our walk, the skies start to clear, lifting our moods, and completely changing the colour of the landscape.

Gull Taking Off

Seagulls Wading
Large European Herring Gulls (Larus argentatus) congregated in groups at the water’s edge.

Seagull in Flight

Seagulls in the Surf
A Lesser Black-backed Gull (Larus fuscus) wades at the water’s edge.

Sand Dunes
A lot of our walk was past dunes covered in hardy marram grass.

A Tuft of Grass
European Marram Grass or Beachgrass (Ammophila arenaria) clings to the windy sand-scape.

Nature’s Still-Life: Pebble Drift

As we approach the north end of the beach, black clouds roll in …

… slanting the light low over the dunes …

Windsurfer
… and darkening the skies over the hamlet of Fahamore (An Faiche Mór or “the large green”).

Oystercatchers
Eurasian Oystercatchers (Haematopus ostralegus) are meant to be common in this area; these were the first we saw.

Body Surfers
Young people in their wetsuits seem unconcerned about the incoming clouds.

Once we reached the little hamlet of Fahamore (An Faiche Mór) at the north end of Brandon Bay, we took a break at the charming – and apparently “famous” - Spillane’s Bar & Restaurant. We were more than ready for a late lunch and early libation: there is nothing like a little stroll in the sea air to sharpen the appetite!

The next stretch of walking took us across Scraggane Bay, then back south along Tralee Bay towards Castlegregory.

Pied Wagtail (Motacilla alba yarrellii)

Boats on Scraggane Bay
A small fleet of fishing boats, netting European lobster, spiny lobster or crayfish, spider crab, edible crab, and Atlantic salmon, keeps this area alive.

Rusty Cart
The other economic mainstay is farming: mostly root vegetables, which love the sandy soil.

A young bull watches us pass.

Like a Commercial!
It must be dinner time: the horse seems to be racing the car across the Maharees Peninsula.

Kilshannig Graveyard
The crumbling graveyard at Kilshannig includes an ancient (seventh century) cross slab.

Rocky Coast
The beach on the east of the Maharees Peninsula, along Tralee Bay, is covered in sharp rocks.

Fish Traps
Traps for lobster or crayfish are scattered around Tralee Bay.

The overcast had lowered again and the skies were almost dark by the time we stumbled into Castlegregory, our home for the night.

It had been, as our trip-notes had promised, a “long but not a demanding day”: a wonderful walk with some great scenery.

So, I was happy: my camera chips were full… and my boots were finally dry.

Sláinte!

Pictures: 27June2012

Into the Woods
It’s a pleasant walk around the grounds of Westminster Abbey, Mission, BC.

Kermit the Frog lamented on the difficulties of being green.

It’s not that easy bein’ green
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves
When I think it could be nicer being red or yellow or gold
Or something much more colorful like that

It’s not easy bein’ green
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things
And people tend to pass you over ’cause you’re
Not standing out like flashy sparkles in the water
Or stars in the sky

It may not be easy being green, but I always feel better when I am surrounded by it.

During our too-brief stay in some smaller communities in Canada’s forested and green British Columbia last July, we took advantage of the wilds on our doorsteps, and walked out into the woods whenever we could.

While staying in Mission, a small city on the north bank of the Fraser River, about 60km inland from Vancouver, we visited the nearby Benedictine monastery of Westminster Abbey.

Westminster Abbey, Mission, BC

The order was established in 1939, and construction of the abbey, church, and seminary, all designed by Norwegian architect, Asbjørn Gåtheat, started at this site in 1953. The monks took up residence the next year.

During the school term, the Abbey is home to the only Anglophone high school seminary in Canada and a college degree program. While we were there, however, the church was padlocked tight, and the grounds were quiet. We saw one small group of visiting religious – perhaps escorted by one of the 30 resident monks.

Orange-Red Berries

A damp climate with plenty of dark, green places, means slugs can usually be found.

The abbey grounds provide a commanding view up the Fraser River Valley.

A group of visitors inspect some of the grounds’ 70 hectares.

Pine Cones

From the Abby, it is not far to Rolley Lake Provincial Park, which – in the words of their own website – “provides a quick escape from urban life”.

Lakeside Loop, around Rolley Lake, provided us with with a delightful walk through more green…

Rolley Lake

A boardwalk section of the Lakeside Loop skirts over wetlands.

Once Were Woods…
Anything could be lurking – it’s like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale!

Mossy Woods
If you get lost, just remember that moss grows denser on the north side of trees.

Spanish Moss

Woods and Clear Waters

Tumbling White Waters

Dead Leaves

More Moss

Rolley Lake is a popular kayaking, swimming and fishing spot.

A few days later, we had the chance to wander some of the seven kilometres of trails that criss-cross Cliff Gilker Park in Roberts Creek, on BC’s Sechelt Peninsula. We walked well-maintained spongy trails through Douglas Fir and Red Cedar trees, climbed stairs, clambered over rocks and crossed charming bridges over Clack and Roberts Creeks.

Small Waterfall, Cliff Gilker Park

Evergreen Trees

Spanish Moss on Lowered Branches

Textures: The Bark of a Douglas Fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) 

Small Red Berries

Salmonberry – Rubus spectabilis

Even the Mighty Fall!

Cedar and fir both have beautifully straight, tall tree trunks.

Fallen Log and Water Falling

Thanks to Joe Raposo‘s lyrics, Kermit comes to grips with being green:

But green’s the color of Spring
And green can be cool and friendly-like
And green can be big like an ocean
Or important like a mountain
Or tall like a tree

When green is all there is to be
It could make you wonder why
But why wonder, why wonder?
I am green and it’ll do fine
It’s beautiful!
And I think it’s what I want to be!

I’m glad – because I love it.

Photos: 25July 2012 and 28July2012

Novice Nun
Mahagandayon Monastery, Amarapura

It is a different world…

Temples and monasteries are an integral part of life in Myanmar. They accommodate about half a million males, who are either vocational monks or novices, and around 50,000 nuns. That is: roughly one percent of the population actually lives in one of the many monasteries or nunneries, completely dependent on the laity for all their material needs.

Theravada Buddhist monastic life has a strict daily routine revolving around prayers and religious study, but it is the silent alms-rounds (e.g. Sangkhlaburi, Chiang Rai, and Luang Prabang) and the mealtimes (e.g. Lining up for Lunch) that fascinate outsiders and which provide such rich photographic opportunities.

The Morning Shave
Mahagandayon Monastery

Being a “tourist attraction” is a dilemma for monastic institutions: while having visitors contributes to their financial well-being, and promotes cultural understanding, it can be disruptive. ‘Boundaries’ are different between cultures, and many tourists seem to be unaware (or to deliberately ignore) local expectations of behaviour within sacred grounds.

Mahagandayon Monastery in Amarapura, outside Mandalay is on just about every Burmese travel-agent’s itinerary. Founded around 1914, it is one of the largest teaching monasteries in Myanmar, and home to up to 2000 monks at any given time.

The common areas of Mahagandayon Monastery are quite open, but visitors are clearly instructed which parts are out-of-bounds to them: an injunction that more than one tourist, unfortunately, ignores. Daily, tourists descend mid-morning to watch the resident monks line up silently and systematically for their lunch – their last meal of the day.

Abbot
Mahagandayon Monastery

Start of the Lunch Lines

Eyes Down
Young monks line up for lunch.

Young Monk Waiting

Best Foot Forward
Bare feet on the wet walkways of Mahagandayon Monastery.

Lines Moving into Lunch

Because visitors cannot be relied upon not to disturb the monks during their silent mealtime, they are no longer allowed inside the dining hall. So I, my nine photo-group companions, our leader Karl Grobl, and our guide Mr MM, remained outside, in the rainy streets and alleys of the monastery while the the monks ate in peace.

Once they finished eating, they filed out and commenced cleaning up.

Lunchroom, Mahagandayon Monastery

Washing Dishes

Greeting Visitors and Pilgrims

Chinese Monk
Visitors and pilgrims to Mahagandayon Monastery come from all over.

Monk Talking to a Visitor
Many of the monks at the monastery were articulate in English, and outspoken about their country’s history and politics.

Cross Cultural Discussions

Monk in a Lane Way

From a balcony, a monk watches the visitors below.

Woman Waiting
Indigent people wait…

Alms for the Poor
… until the monks give them leftovers.

Washing Up

We left the monks and the Mahagandayon Monastery to get our own lunch in Sagaing, southwest of Mandalay. Above the Ayeyarwady River, the Sagaing Hills are dotted with monasteries and nunneries; we stopped at one nunnery, where the women were busy preparing food for the next day: for themselves and for the neighbouring monks.

Three Nuns, Sagaing Hill
Even though their last meal of the day is before noon, preparation for the next day’s meal starts early.

The nunnery is full of laughter.

The women have a natural beauty.

Work is easy when you have a friend to laugh and gossip with.

An older nun smiles at a kitchen doorway.

Another nun collects water.

Even though washing-up conditions are a bit rough, everything looks spotless.

Structured. Ordered. With a time and place for everything.

But, there is always acceptance and a welcome for outsiders, and there is always time for a smile and a laugh.

It’s a pretty good world, really, and I hope future visitors show it the respect it deserves, lest we not be invited back.

Pictures: 14September2012

Avenue Jean Jaures
Nîmes gets its name from Nemausus, a Celtic god who was worshiped at the local spring. Les Quais de la Fontaine, the embankments of the spring, were laid out in the 1700s.

It’s autumn in Australia at the moment, which makes me think of spring in the Northern Hemisphere. Defies logic, I know, but there is something about the freshness of the air this change-of-season that has me humming: “I love Paris in the springtime…” and thinking of my last time in France, back in the spring of 2011, which is when we stopped for a day in Nîmes.

I’d been to Nîmes before: while I was a University student in Western Canada, I spent a summer working for friends who had bought an Auberge (country inn) in Gard, just outside this ancient southern city. I remembered it for it’s well-preserved Roman ruins, it’s cicadas, and its dry, shimmering heat.

I also remember it’s preoccupation with bulls.

Toro Miura qui Possede un Coeur ~ Miura Bull who Has a Heart
Lucien Blanc

That summer in Gard was the first (and only) time-and-place I attended a bull fight. Not the ‘glamourous’ Spanish fights with fancy toreadors in tight black pants, sparkly gold boleros, and red capes; no – more a ‘rodeo’ variety in a make-shift pen, with bull-fighters with pink and yellow capes that reminded me of cheap raincoats.

“Torro Piscine”
Bull Ring ~ Scanned photographs from a rustic bullfight near Nîmes, south of France, 1979.

It was a very long time ago, and I was keen to see if the city could live up to my distant memories of it. We were on our way to the start of our second walk in the French Pyrenees, travelling south from the Auvergne, so Nîmes was the perfect place to stop over. I booked a room close to the train station, and we set out with a city map, for a walk.

Le Palais de Justice
Inspired by La Maison Carrée, the Nimes Law Courts were built between 1836-1846 by architect Gaston Bourdon.

Life in the Palazzo

Les Arènes de Nîmes
Nîmes’ elliptical amphitheatre, built around 70 AD, is the best-preserved Roman arena in France.

Port de France
Locals go about their business through one of the two remaining gates from the original Augustine ramparts.

Modern Urban
Fresh paint and posters set off the old walls in the narrow streets.

L’Eglise St Paul
Decorated in Roman provençal style, St Paul’s Church was inaugurated in 1849. Following periods of change, Nîmes had become the major metropolis of Bas-Languedoc by the 19th Century.

La Maison Carrée
Built of local limestone by architects from Rome around 20 BCE, The Square House was designed by Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who was responsible for the Pantheon in Rome.

La Maison Carrée
The temple was originally dedicated to Gaius and Lucius, adopted sons of Augustus. It is one of the most beautiful and best preserved temples in the former Roman Empire.

Emperor Antonin (86 – 161)
Nîmes was part of the Roman empire from 118 BCE, and made a “colony” by Augustus in 27 BCE.

Avenue Jean Jaures
Leading into the Jardins de la Fontaine.

Jardins de la Fontaine ~ The Gardens of the Fountain 
Built in the middle of the 18th century, the gardens effectively protect two major Roman ruins.

Fresh Green
The trees in the garden are wearing their spring finery.

The gardens are home to ancient statues …

… and living art.

Temple de Diane
My favourite ruin, possibly because it is less well-preserved, is the Temple of Diana. Some say it was built as a sacred fountain dedicated to Nemausus during the time of Augustus. Others say it was built in the 2nd century as a library.

Inside the Temple

Ancient Pillars

Temple of Diane
Fragments of delicately carved stonework remain.

Spring Blooms
Trees and bushes with these purple pea-like flowers were everywhere in the south.

La Tour Magne
It’s a short walk up the hill from the gardens to the La Tour Magne.

La Tour Magne ~ The Great Tower
Once part of the old ramparts.

The top storey has disappeared, but the tower still rises to a height of about 32m.

Nîmes
A climb up the insides of La Tour Magne afford a great view over the city.

The old olive tree and other vegetation at the base of the tower give an indication of the dry heat I remember so vividly from my earlier visit. Even though it was still spring, the day was hot and clear.

Les Arènes de Nîmes
 During the Middle Ages, the arena was used as a fortress – a refuge for the population in case of danger. It was later filled with private houses, until the nineteenth century. Today, the amphitheatre is used for bullfights, music concerts. and other events.

Les Arènes de Nimes
Inside the corridors of the arena, it is easy to imagine the ancient battles. The lion’s cages, and a chapel for the gladiators are all here.

Modern “Bull Fight”
We were lucky enough to be  visiting during one of the two annual bull festivals: “La Primavera des Aficionados” (Spring of the Fans). Julie Donzala demonstrates her skills.

Hot Pink
There are the capes of my memory!

Fortunately, the only “bulls” we saw were papier-mâché and wood on wheels.

Boy Toreadors
Young lads waiting for their turn with the “bulls”.

This horse is being dressed for it’s role as a picador in a fight with real bulls.

Cavalier
One of la cavalerie de Philippe Heyral.

The Arena
It’s a quiet afternoon in the stands.

I didn’t hear any cicadas, but it was only April…

It was good to be back.

Pictures: 09April2011

Karise Eden
Rocking the Blues

Got your gumboots? Got a raincoat, plenty of water, a folding chair and/or an inexhaustible supply of energy? The Byron Bay Blues and Root Festival is the place to be on an Easter (Autumn) weekend in Australia.

There is nothing like music to lift your spirits. Add good company and wholesome food, and you have an unbeatable festival weekend. Of course, into each festival, some rain must fall; the event would not be complete without mud.

Started as the East Coast Blues Festival at the Byron Bay Arts Factory in 1990 with a modest international and local lineup, Bluesfest has evolved into a major five-day event. We only attended three of the five days: we weren’t sure that our ageing ears and bones would hold up to any more!

We decided to ease in with something familiar, Hat Fitz and Cara whom we last saw perform at the Thredbo Blues Festival in 2012. In spite of Cara still wearing an eye-patch following a car accident last December, their powerhouse performance (and between-song-patter) was in no way diminished.

Hat Fitz
Rough, gravel tones belting out a tune.

Hat Fitz and Cara Robinson
A musical duo with powerhouse vocals.

Taj Mahal
As good as ever…

Ben Harper
Bridging the gap between the old and the young

The Byron Bluesfest attracts a wonderful range of international performers across a breadth of styles. The last time I attended, back in 1999, I sought out Taj Mahal, Jimmy Webb, Tony Joe White, and other sounds of my adolescence, but I also let my teenaged children introduce me to Ben Harper, Keb’ Mo’ and Angelique Kidjo. What a great way of rediscovering youth, reliving all the great moments since, and getting glimpses into the future of music.

Shuggie Otis
A musical family delivers

Robert Cray
Cheeky and smooth at the same time.

Over 100,000 people attended this year – not all at the same time, mind you. On Friday, however, as I tried to catch sight of Carlos Santana, whose music was part of the very fabric of my teens. and who, more recently, danced me through my wedding, it felt like they were all in the tent with me – pushing four directions at once.

Smartphone
Sometimes the best view of the stage is through someone else’s smart phone.

Thank Heavens for the Big Screens!
Squashed into an aisle behind the sound stage, I could barely see over the heads in front…

In spite of the obstacles, nothing could diminish Santana’s performance: one hour and a half of unadulterated joy and energy! Somehow, being there, even when you can barely see, is better than a clearer view at home on a television. Confined as we were, bodies squashed together, we danced all the way through the performance, and back out of the tent at the end.

Traditional Blues and Southern Roots
Pat Wilder and the Music Maker Blues Revue

I love the mix of old, traditional performers (like the artists supported by the Music Maker Blues Revue) and local talent, like the young Genevieve Chadwick, who we first saw at Thredbo Blues 2013, and Lil’ Fi, who has been a part of the local arts seen for a while. And although none of them are female, we were as captivated by Round Mountain Girls as they were by the mountain that gives them their name. It’s these surprises you find, sometimes while looking for something else, that make festivals such a treat.

Genevieve Chadwick
Her big voice fills the space in the big tent.

Lil’ Fi
“Celebrating Curves”

Time Out
Bluesfest is a pretty chilled out affair.

Chris Eaton
Round Mountain Girls

Like a fiddler possessed ~

Rabbit Robinson on stage.

Chris Broker, Chris Eaton and Rabbit Robinson of Round Mountain Girls
We were as taken by this band as they were by “Round Mountain”, which possesses them.

No Room to Move!
Mojo Tent is already packed out the sides with people.

After our experience of not-really-seeing Santana on Friday, on Saturday we tried to stake a spot for another icon of my adolescence: Robert Plant, the inimitable voice of Led Zeppelin, four hours ahead of time. Clearly 99,998 or so people had had that idea before us, and we had to settle for parking chairs in the wings outside the huge, already packed, tent.

Light fell, bands played on and the stars came out; I was thankful that the rains held off…  Then Plant’s voice, supported and enriched by the off-beat rhythms of the Sensational Space Shifters, wove its old magic and still thrilled me to the core.

Robert Plant
A long way away ~ but his voice reaches, regardless

“The Swamp”
Tony Joe White has lost none of his story-telling appeal since I last saw him in 1999.

Karise Eden
Winner of Australia’s first season of The Voice, 2012, Karise packs a Janis Joplin punch.

Rain
A little rain can’t dampen festival-goers spirits.

Beautiful Tattoos
The festival audience included young and old, and provides for people-watching enjoyment.

A New Take on the One-Man Band
Billed as an Australian “musician, activist, and surfer”, multi-instrumentalist Xavier Rudd on didgeridoos, percussion and guitar.

Sound Stage
The oft-forgotten people behind the scenes; for the most part, they did an excellent job.

Cat Empire
Harry James Angus on trumpet.

The Cat’s Eye under Lights
Felix Riebl singing up a storm.

I have a soft spot for Cat Empire, as I first saw them in a pub in Darwin on a “night out” with my son. But, frightened by the prospects of another hour and a half standing still in the car park, as we had done the night before, we didn’t stay through to the end of their set.

I guess its a sign that I’m getting rather old for the challenges of festival-going: paying to be wet and tired and muddy, watching on the big screens something I wouldn’t watch on TV at home.

Hell yes! We have our tickets for next year already.

Music is good for the soul.

Peace, love and mung beans!

Pictures: 29-31March2013

Follow the Walking Man
On Mt Brandon, looking back over the magnificent Smerwick Harbour, Ireland.

If you are a regular visitor to this site, you’ll know that I love walking.

The thing is: some days I enjoy it more in retrospect than in real time!

By Day 8 of our walk around the Dingle Peninsula, that was certainly the case. I was tired.

We’d lost the trail on a bog-covered mountain the day before, and doses of anti-inflammatory drugs overnight had not met the challenge of ageing knees and hip joints. Tired and sore.

Then there was the intermittent rain: just enough so that we had to pull the raincoats out of bags at least once a day; just enough to ensure it was always slippery under foot. Tired and sore and wet.

According to our notes, we had another mountain to cross…

Day 8: Ballydavid to Cloghane

This is one of the most remote sections of the Dingle Way; offering you a combination of history and breathtaking scenery. 
The trail follows a green road that crosses the shoulder of one of Ireland’s highest mountains “Mount Brandon” standing at 952Mtrs. Passes a standing stone that dates back over 3.500 years; which still displays the symbols of Ogham Writing. Crosses over an area of blanket bog where turf is still harvested in the traditional ways of our forefathers.
 Finishing in the quiet village of Cloghane; that lies in the shadow of Mount Brandon.

Distance: 19 km/13 miles, Ascent: 670 m/2010 ft

Flower Border
Flowers in the village send us off on our way…

Cow in the Countryside
We had a fair walk along country roads before heading off cross-country.

Still Waters
Quiet waters and a dotting of farms under lowering skies.

Currach or Naomhóg
The Blasket islanders developed a distinctive regional type of currach (or naomhóg) which they used for transport and fishing.

Creek Waters

Barbed Wire
Sheep’s wool, stone fence and a green mountain; it doesn’t get more Irish than that.

Irish Sheep
The sheep are curious about out our progress.

Wild Honeysuckle
Like the Irish spirit, the delicate honeysuckle (Woodbine: Lonicera periclymenum) is flexible, resilient, and deceptively strong.

From Mount Brandon
In spite of low cloud, we still have magnificent views back over Ballydavid Head and the Three Sisters.

Ogham Stone
This Ogham, dating back to the 4th Century, apparently says: “Ronan, the priest son of Comgan”.

We were really excited to reach the Ogham Stone in the saddle between Masatiompan and Mount Brandon: according too our trip notes, there were a number of Ogham stones along our walk, but so far we had not succeeded in seeing any of them. We had looked – but the notes were often a bit vague, so we weren’t sure if we were looking in the wrong place or for the wrong thing. We were beginning to wonder if the stones had all been carried away by archaeologists or leprechauns. This was our first!

Reaching the stone also meant we had reached the high point of our day, and the rest should be down hill. Easy, right?

Wrong! More of a water-runoff-gully than a path, the way down the mountain was steep, mired in mud and water, and frequently slippery. Burdened as we were with day-packs and camera gear, we picked our way down as carefully as we could, grateful for our trusty walking sticks. It took us more than an hour to reach the peat road part way down the hill. By this time, I was ready for the day to be over, but we still had at least eight kilometres to go… I took some comfort in the fact that three young walkers we had passed along the way were still well behind us, so it wasn’t just age that had slowed us down: it truly was a wicked stretch of ground!

Brandon Point
View over the flank of Masatiompan towards Brandon Point.

This Way Down
Steeper than it looks, muddy and wet; we were pleased we had our walking sticks.

A Cairn along the Way
Previous walkers have marked their passing along the “trail”.

Stones along the Path
At this point, the trail became a little drier and more manageable. There’s a walking man ahead!

Peat Gathering
Blanket peat covers most of the Dingle Peninsula. Although it is considered a non-renewable and not-particularly efficient energy source, it is harvested by locals for burning as fuel and for sale.

Teer Bog Road
A peat-cutter’s road leads down towards Brandon Bay.

Another Lamb…

Brandon Bay
Cottages come into view; dinner can’t be too far away!

More Cows…

Brandon Bay
Finally! We are back at sea-level, as the clouds lower over the bay.

Fishing Boats
Small craft are tied up at Brandon Pier.

Last Light
Rain clouds hover over the beach at Brandon Bay as we make our way to our lodgings near Cloghane.

Well, maybe on a dry day.

Sláinte!

The Pinnacles
The white sands and red clay cliffs make a striking contrast to green eucalyptus, blue skies and water.

We live in a glorious corner of the universe, with National Parks, beaches, wetlands and mountains virtually at our doorstep. Trouble is, we are on the road so much that sometimes we forget to get out and explore when we are at home. That’s where having visitors comes in handy: there is no better way to appreciate your own neighbourhood than by showing it off to someone else!

It’s only a short drive from our little “Eden” to the northern half of Ben Boyd National Park – even so, we’d not been there before taking visitors to have a look last February.

The Walking Track
It’s an easy one kilometre circuit out to the Pinnacles and back to the car-park.

The Path
A short rise leads us up through the banksia trees.

Drying Banksia Flowers (Proteaceae)
Soon they will lose their characteristic flower spikes, and the gnarly “cones” will be visible.

Saw Banksia or Old Man Banksia (Banksia Serrata)
I can’t see these gnarled trees without thinking of the Australian children’s writer, May Gibbs…

May Gibbs
“Gumnut babies” are the flower/seed pods of the Eucalyptus (http://www.kopida.com/2011/12/may-gibbs.html)

May Gibbs
“The Banksia Men Make a Wicked Plot”
(http://thinkdesignerprints.com.au/australiana/)

Banksia Branch
Not quite “bad banksia men” yet, but these seed pods are browning.

Long Beach
It looked like a beautiful afternoon on the beach. Usually you can walk down and view the Pinnacles from their base, but the steps were closed when we visited.

The Pinnacles
The coloured cliffs of the Pinnacles come into view through Banksia branches.

More Banksia
Trees line the sandy path around the point.

The Pinnacles
The white sand and red clay cliffs of the Pinnacles were laid down over 30 million years ago.

Leaf Litter and Seed Pods

Termite Mound
The vegetation changes dramatically on the second half of the path, with tall trees and termite mounds. We even spotted two black cockatoo overhead! They were too fast for my camera.

The short hike around the Pinnacles left us with time and energy to spare, especially as we couldn’t walk down to Long Beach. Just a ten minute drive up the road is Panboola, a protected wetlands, supported by National Parks and local agencies and industries, situated on 77 hectares (190 acres) of reclaimed farmland, town-land and a horse-racetrack.

It was late afternoon: a perfect time for a stroll.

Entry to Panboola
We parked close to the entry and wandered some of the pathways around the 77ha (190 acre) wetlands.

Egret
From a covered pavilion near the entry, we learned about the reserve, and watched local waterbirds.

Purple Wildflowers

Picnic Table
There are places to sit, if you have time.

Purple Swamphens (Porphyrio porphyrio)

A Holstein
Areas within the wetland are still used as farmland.

Old Stables
Buildings from the abandoned racecourse sit around the track.

Old Grandstand

Eastern Grey Kangaroos (Macropus giganteus)
Early morning and late afternoon are the best times to meet Australian wildlife. These kangaroos were the biggest I’ve come across.

Two more eastern grey kangaroos watch us from a safe distance…

… before bounding off into the scrub.

Sometimes we forget that the “familiar” to us is “exotic” to someone else.

And, our own neighbourhoods are always worth exploring.

Happy rambles!

Pictures: 07February2013

Guinness Black Ale
Ready for drinking at the Gravity Bar, top floor of the Guinness Storehouse, Dublin (iPhone S4).

It was St Patrick’s Day this week, so it seemed fitting to return to another Irish cultural icon: Guinness.

July last year was wet in Ireland, and it rained much of the short time we were in Dublin. So, we visited the Guinness Storehouse: it was a good way to learn something about local history, while staying dry for a few hours.

As a bonus, we each got a “pint of black” with our entry price.

Sir Benjamen Lee Guinness (1798 – 1868)
The grandson of Arthur Guinness (founder of the Guinness brewery) has his statue in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, which his funding helped restore.

The Guinness dynasty has left an indelible mark on Dublin. Our open-bus tour took us past  the house in which Arthur Guinness (1724/1725 – 1803), lived. Billed as an entrepreneur, visionary and philanthropist, in 1759 Arthur founded the now-famous brewery at St James’s Gate. An Irish Protestant, Guinness was deeply influenced by John Wesley’s theology of social ministry. He started (and funded) the first Sunday schools in Ireland; he gave vast amounts of money to hospitals and charitable projects for the poor; and he payed his workers about 20 percent more than other employers. More importantly, he passed his reformist ideology down to his heirs: “If you had worked for Guinness in 1928, a year before the Great Depression, you would have had 24-hour medical care, 24-hour dental care, on-site massage therapy.”

Over the generations, the Guinness family has been responsible for (among other things) funding parks and medical facilities, as well as restoring St. Patrick’s Cathedral and other public properties.

Guinness Storehouse
Entry to the original St. James’s Gate brewery, established in 1759.

The original brewery at St James’s Gate is the centrepiece of the Guinness story. Inside the thick brick walls, what was once the old brewery and storehouse is now a museum built in girders and glass. Rising up the centre of the seven-story building is the world’s largest pint glass. At the base of the glass is a special document: the original 9000-year lease for the St James’s Gate property.

The Lease
The original 9000-year lease for the St James’s Gate Brewery is part of Guinness mythology; harder to track is the real story of expansion (from 4 to 50 acres) and changes of ownership over recent years.

The Collection
Making a point for the breadth of Guinness history, the bottle case reminds us about the role of legal documents and developments in transportation in the Guinness story.

A Guinness Guide
Before we are let loose on the several floors of audio-visual displays, we are given a brief talk.

Bolts
Dim lighting and “industrial” architecture foster the image of a once-working brewery.

Hops
The brewing story starts with four natural ingredients: yeast, barley, hops…

Fresh Water
… and water – lots of water.

Audio Visual
A combination of displays, old machinery. and explanatory posters walk you through the process.

Old Machinery

Explanations on Glass

A Copper Kettle

Looking Down
As we work our way up the “pint glass”, we can look back down over the ground-floor retail space.

Industrial Pipes

Machinery ~ Abstract Colour

As well as explaining the brewing process, the museum looks at distribution and transportation. My great-grandfather was a cooper, so I was particularly interested in watching the short film about the Guinness Master Cooper, Dick Flanagan, making barrels.

The Coopers’ Barrels
An old film demonstrates the skill of the coopers who make the wooden barrels.

Coopers’ Tools

Labels over Time

A large section of the museum displays sponsorship and advertising over the years. Who can forget “I like to watch” or other famous Guinness ads from years gone by? There are also sections on health and responsible drinking, tracing family who might have worked for the company, and even cooking with Guinness.

In keeping with the mythology of the perfect beer, there is an entire section instructing you how to pour a pint: a six-step process, achieved in two stages and taking exactly 119.5 seconds!

Part-pints, ready to be topped up.

Guinness Baristas?

Glass Bricks
The canteen on the sixth floor is empty as we work our way up the building.

The Perfect Pour?
“Good things come to those who wait.”

The Gravity Bar
On the top floor of the Storehouse, there is plenty of space to enjoy the views over Dublin.

Pony Trap
Wet Dublin streets.

I confess: I don’t actually like Guinness, or any other beer.

I did my best to down my pint: I managed a quarter and gave the rest to my husband.

Outside it was still wet. Oh well – that’s Ireland.

Happy St Patrick’s Day ~ Sláinte!

Photos: 07July2012