All too soon my trip to Australia is approaching the finishing line. The day after tomorrow I will be packing up bag and baggage, loading up my gutless little rental car and driving back down the mountain to the airport for the 28 hour flight home.
I think Australia is a land which tolerates its inhabitants while expecting them to be ever-mindful that unless they remain vigilent, its geography, flora and fauna will act to reclaim the parts humans have colonised. Whether it be marauding killer spiders invading house and home, murderous sharks and jellyfish patrolling the waters or invasive plant life ready to encroach and spread if not kept in check, this is a land where people have had to seek some kind of working relationship with what was here before. At the risk of harping on about the little buggars, I don't think it's a coincidence that the venom of the funnel web spider is much more lethal to humans than other animals, so while a dog or cat will become sick and will require treatment if bitten, the human nervous system can quite simply begin to shut down after 20 minutes unless the antidote isn't administered.
So a beautiful, breathtaking, multi-faceted land of desert and water and greenery and forest and mountains, but also very much one which demands respect. We were talking about this the other day - in the 1970s there was a wave of Australian films that explored these themes. Perhaps the best known are Walkabout (a personal favourite) and Picnic at Hanging Rock but for me, a film that captures the essence of man against the hostile Australian environment is Long Weekend. The seventies was a fascinating period for Australian cinema and I've noticed that many of the films made during this time are now available on DVD, so will be trawling through them once I get back.
Drove back into the city yesterday with the intention of meeting a former work colleague for lunch and visiting the State Library, but was defeated by the (hardly surprising) parking restrictions. No different to London or any other major city I am sure, but in the end I was only able to meet Eugene for something to eat and a catch up, before racing back to where I'd put the car (there are parking garages but I decided I wasn't prepared to pay £50 for the privilege!). However, as returning to my limited parking space did afford me a train ride via Circular Quay, I was therefore able to see the still astonishing view of the Harbour, the Bridge and Opera House, the green and white ferries appearing to dart back and forth, expertly manoeuvring through the deep water.
A 'bush walk' is promised for today (Al orchestrating a packed lunch to take, lest we famish in the forests!), and tomorrow I will leave Gutless behind and board the train to the city to meet the daughter of the third Sydney Telegraph Girl. I know nothing of when or how Eileen Westley passed away, but do know that her daughter is keen to revisit her late mother's adventure in 1968. It maybe an emotional coming together, I don't know, but I am so very happy to share what I know with her. Then, I will spend the remainder of my last full day trawling through the newspaper archives at the Library before boarding te Blue Mountain Line back to Katoomba and a final dinner with Al and Marcus.
It has been a delightful trip.
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