The Plunge Down Under

More From the Great Ocean Road

It may very well be possible to become weary of traveling along the Great Ocean Road, but if that is so, I have yet to discover it.  After completing my fourth trip in two months this past Sunday, I would happily hop into the car for another journey tomorrow.  I had promised the kids that we would take the shortest route to Apollo Bay last Friday, and much to their dismay it turned out that the shortest route was in fact the winding road the hugs the coast of southern Australia. 

In spite of being the sole adult with four young passengers, I pulled over numerous times to soak in the scenery, ignoring the escalating groans from the backseat.  James was the only one who did not participate in the chorus of "Mom!  You promised you wouldn't take any more pictures!"  For the record, I would never promise such a thing, except perhaps under extreme duress.

By the time we finally reached our destination, all three older children had been complaining of carsickness for the previous thirty minutes.  I frequently offered to pull over during the last part of the journey, but strangely they felt that stopping the car would only make things worse.  Fortunately their symptoms completely disappeared when it became apparent that pizza was available for those feeling well enough to consume it.  Never underestimate the power of calories to restore grumpy spirits when traveling!

After enjoying our surroundings in Apollo Bay throughout the day on Saturday, in the evening we drove down the road to the Cape Otway Lighthouse, all eyes peeled for koalas in the trees.  The children were the first to spot them.

We enjoyed peering through the trees at mob of kangaroos from behind the fence shown below, but Katie and Cameron were horrified shortly afterward when they discovered leeches on their ankles.  I pulled over as soon as I heard the shrieking, and we got rid of them in a hurry.

Sunday afternoon Ross drove his parents to see the Twelve Apostles, which his dad affirms to be the highlight of his visit down under.  He has seen them in pictures, he explained, numerous times, but even so was unprepared for the beauty of seeing them in person.  I learned just today that there have never been twelve of them.  Up until 1922, the limestone rock stacks were known as the Sow and Piglets, after which time they were renamed the Apostles.  Eventually they came to be called the Twelve Apostles despite the fact that they only ever numbered nine.  In 2005 one of the apostles collapsed, leaving the eight that remain today.

We have spent the past two days quietly at home.  Ross's parents have declared that the Great Ocean Road more than met their expectations, and gave them enough to reflect upon for quite some time to come.  James, meanwhile, has been soaking up the time with them, and it has been a joy to watch the bonds strengthened between them.  They will be greatly missed when they leave us on Thursday.

 

 

Fire and Water in Apollo Bay

It is becoming a bit of a tradition lately to fill our weekends with gorgeous scenery, and this past weekend's trip to Apollo Bay was no exception.  This time we had the privilege of introducing its beauty to Ross's parents, who gladly came along for the ride.  The chilly temperatures made us appreciate the wood stove in our apartment, and provided us with the pleasure of watching both fire and ocean from the comfort of the lounge.

 

Sport and School Life

For a boy who was positive he never wanted to go to school, not even for university, C has certainly come a long way in the past six weeks.  After Ross and I concluded that at least one year at an Aussie school might be an excellent opportunity for him, we had our work set out for us to bring him on board.  Apparently we had done quite an effective job selling him on the advantages of homeschooling, as he spent several weeks reminding us of each and every one we have discussed over the years.  In the end, however, he agreed to give it a try, and in spite of a few rough bumps at the beginning, he has come to mostly appreciate his school.

C had only been to school for three days when his entire class (comprised of approximately forty Year 5 and Year 6 students) boarded a bus and headed for three days and two nights at Camp Rumbug.  Talk about throwing him into the fire---we were at least glad he had been to an overnight camp before.  It did give him the opportunity to try lots of new things, including a drawbrigde course, a ropes course, and to learn lots of new words and expressions, some of which, after we explained the meaning to him, we instructed him not to repeat!

Here he is ready to board the bus.  I didn't send a camera with him, so I have no pictures of camp.

C's teacher has been wonderful, and I am sure that has been one of the main reasons he has coped so well with the transition to school.  Another big reason, however, is the emphasis on sport.  C had been back from camp only one day when the school held an all-day, all-school swimming carnival.  All students, even non-swimmers, were expected to compete and were encouraged to do their best.  It took some convincing for us to get our son out the door that morning as swimming has never been his strong point.  Much to his delight, however, he came home with three first-place ribbons and a spot on the interschool swim team.  All those hours of training at the Harold Holt Swim Center paid off.

C made it as far as the District level for the 50m backstroke.  Here is a picture of him just before the race.  He finished about 9th out of 15.

J has been watching his big brother, and he is ready to follow in his foot steps.  He convinced me to purchase him an Aussie pair of bathers like the other boys in his swim class wear (I couldn't bring myself to buy the speedos, so we compromised):

Athletics, the all-round term for track and field, has followed swimming.  Last Friday C participated in an all-school athletics carnival held at a nearby field.  Again, every student participated, including the preps, who jumped over their own set of mini-hurdles.  C was impressed at how young the children here are taught to throw the discus and the shot put.  This put him at a bit of a disadvantage, but he learned many new skills on this day, and came home with a third place ribbon for shot put.

The children compete to earn points for their color, and I discovered that even parents come dressed in the appropriate color to cheer on their offspring.  C was assigned to red at the beginning of the year, and thankfully I chose a red jumper for James to wear that day. 

Faithful Fan:

Waiting to run the hurdles:

It has been a joy for us to watch the transformation in our son from a reluctant scholar to an enthused boy who races out of the front gate every morning on his scooter.   For this, and for so much more, we are grateful.

 

Especially For Aunt Marion

 . . . because I know she will love the pictures, many of which were taken by her brother.

Eating the lunch Grandma prepared (it was only 10:30, but we all joined him! Must have been that mountain air . . .)

The day before we visited Puffing Billy and the National Rhododendron Gardens (Tuesday), we ventured into the city on "Tram 5," something James has been begging to do every day for several weeks. 

Two full days of sightseeing left everyone worn out, so we spent today recovering and resting up for tomorrow's trip on the Great Ocean Road.  We'll be sure to keep you posted on the last half of their visit with us.

We Welcome More Visitors

On Saturday the Wilkin Family Bed and Breakfast threw open its doors to welcome a fourth round of visitors.  Ross's parents flew all the way from eastern Canada, beginning in Fredericton, New Brunswick, stopping in Toronto, Ontario, changing planes in Vancouver, British Columbia (for the record they live closer to London, England than to Vancouver), and then making the long haul flight to Sydney.  Ross and Katie flew up to meet them there, and to accompany them on the last leg of their journey to Melbourne.  They arrived in remarkably good shape, considering, and are feeling much better today after a twelve hour sleep last night.

This morning we took advantage of the sunshine to walk to our local shopping center, where the primary goal, other than buying our lunch, seemed to be spoiling James.  He had a marvelous time drinking a baby 'cino (the milky, frothy part of a cappuccino finished with a sprinkling of cocoa), having a ride on a carousel, picking out a hat (on clearance at Target this time of year), and arriving home with an early birthday present, a new play dough set.

I'll close with a few pictures that Ross's dad took yesterday, Sunday.  We spent most of the afternoon enjoying the sunshine on our back patio.  Tomorrow we hope to take the tram into the city, and on the weekend, another trip on the Great Ocean Road.

 

Emus at the Prom

Another holiday weekend, another excursion, another delightful surprise.  I have been mentally writing this post for a couple of days now, and so far have failed to come up with vocabulary and descriptions that I haven't already used multiple times in previous posts.  The state of Victoria continues to impress us with its lush countryside, rolling, verdant hills and lovely beaches.  We have yet to see anything that corresponds to our previous idea of a dry, dusty, and empty wasteland with a few roos hopping about.  While I know this is true of large parts of the outback,  yet to be explored by us, the south eastern corner of the continent is anything but red and blank.  This we confirmed once again in a short trip this past weekend.

The Sunday before Labor Day started off hot, sunny, and almost stiflingly humid.  Having heard the prediction for a cool change bringing some rain in its wake, we raced to our destination, Wilson's Promontory, the southern most point on the Australian mainland.  The kids were hoping for a swim, and right up to the end we thought we would make it.  The helpful staff at the information center in Foster assured us we would be well ahead of the rain as we set off on the final forty minute drive on the road ending at Norman Beach. We watched the temperature plummet during these forty minutes, however, and sure enough, the raindrops started to fall as we pulled into the beach carpark.  After waiting for an hour or so huddled under umbrellas, we resigned ourselves to a wet evening. 

Prior to the rain, the three hour drive down from Melbourne provided one beautiful view after another, which I mostly failed to capture on my camera.  I'll include a couple of the attempts anyway.  In the background of the second photo you can see Wilson's Promontory, a stretch of land surrounded by water on three sides and affectionately called "the Prom" by generations of Victorians.

Having done very little research for this trip, we did not realize that emus live on the promontory.  We happened upon two by the roadside next to a pair of Eastern Gray Kangaroos, and pulled over to watch them.

Shortly after the emu sighting, we noticed a few splatters of rain, and by the time we headed back to our motel, it was falling in earnest.  Our primary consolation was that unlike most of the others at Norman Beach, we were not spending the night in a tent. 

The Squeaky Beach overlook, beautiful in spite of the gray clouds:

Nearly the same spot the following morning, which happily brought with it a return to sunny skies:

We again drove as far south as the road will permit, to the Norman Beach and Tidal River campgrounds.  Before changing into swimming gear, we opted to go on a two hour hike to Squeaky Beach, a decision that was better received by some of the children than others.  All ended up having a fantastic time, however, and even James walked nearly the whole way up, down, and then back up and down again without a complaint.

A sign at the start of the trail explained that the brown color in the river comes from the tannin produced by decomposing vegetation, similar to what happens when brewing a cuppa, rather than from pollution.  After admiring Norman Beach (above), we hiked for twenty minutes or so uphill and were rewarded us with stunning views of Squeaky Beach, so named because the quartz content of the sand not only makes for startlingly white and gorgeous sand, but also causes loud squeaking noises when humans walk on it.

Cameron and Sophie desperately wanted to climb on the rocks below, but after Ross and I read the account of a nineteen-year-old and twenty-year-old swept to sea and drowned by an unexpected wave in 1998 on this very spot, we wouldn't let them.  There were a couple of men and a boy fishing here, however, as well as children in the surf in spite of signs proclaiming it to be unsafe for kids.  It is hard to know what exactly is safe and what is not.

Investigating the squeaky sand:

It was incredible to us that on a gorgeous holiday Monday this amazing beach was nearly empty.  It is no wonder that so many people come here to study or work for a couple of years and end up staying for a lifetime (note to family: not to worry, like it or not, we will be back!).

Several hours later the younger kids finally enjoyed the promised swim in the surf while Katie opted to read in the sand.

The emus made a second appearance as we reluctantly turned the car toward home, all hoping as we pulled away that this first trip to the Prom would not be our last.

 

 

Craving Color? Brighton Bathing Boxes to the Rescue

I originally intended to post this on Friday but instead we found ourselves riveted to the television watching coverage of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan.  The contrast between the heartbreaking devastation just a few thousand miles north of us and the serene pictures below is very great indeed.

As we head into Labor Day Weekend, we must acknowledge that we are feeling a sense of urgency to fully appreciate each day of summer weather that remains.  With this in mind, James and I headed to the beach one day this past week in search of one of Melbourne's tourist icons, the Brighton bathing boxes.  I never really understood what a bathing box was before we arrived in Australia.  I had heard of them in connection with various European beaches and pictured something like a box of water in which one could get dunked.  As it happens, they are little more than glorified storage sheds.  Apparently they date from the Victorian era, and stem from the morality and modesty of that time period.

With their corrugated iron roofs, timber framing and weatherboards, the 82 bathing boxes at Brighton retain the architecture of the Victorian time period in which they were originally constructed.  In spite of a lack of amenities such as electricity and running water, the selling price as of 2008 for one bathing box was approximately 200,000 AUD.  On the weekday we visited, most remained closed.  Inside the two that we did find open, we found beach chairs, hooks for towels, and simple shelving and cupboards.  One lady was working on a crossword just inside the door of her box, while another box was shared by three older people, all deeply tanned and wrinkled.

After examining the numbers on each box, which mercifully went from 1 to 82 without any missing or skipped, James and I enjoyed morning tea.  He then spent some time playing in the water and sand before declaring the water much too cold for his liking.  We headed back home in time for lunch, grateful for the opportunity to have soaked in the sunshine and beauty of this particular day and beach.

A Whole New World

In the unlikely event that our family did not experience enough changes over the past twelve months, we added one more big one to the list on the last day of January when Katie started secondary school.  We are just beginning to absorb all that this entails, at least at Presbyterian Ladies College, which is why I have not attempted a post about school life sooner. I feel that perhaps we might be coming to the top of the steep learning curve, although this conclusion may prove debatable.  In any case, there are many things I have found intriguing about Katie's school life, and I hope some of them may be of some interest to my readers as well. 

I must first acknowledge that I am not the most qualified to write a post about differences between American and Australian schools having never sent a child to school in the U.S.  Not only that, but somehow more than two decades have passed since my own experience.  However I will make an attempt. For starters, there seems to be no concept of middle school in Victoria.  The American equivalent of high school begins in seventh grade, called Year 7.  Before this students attend primary school, where they are often divided into junior (Prep through Year 2) and senior (Year 3 through Year 6) levels.  Kindergarten is referred to as "Prep," while preschool-aged children attend Kinder.  College is what we call high school, while "uni" seems to be the preferred term for post-secondary education.

The focus of all the attention on education falls squarely on the secondary level.  Colleagues at Heinz have confirmed to Ross that where you attend high school is far more important, both for your career as well as for your social life, than your university experience.  Sending children to private school is perhaps because of this far more common than in the U.S., at least beginning at Year 7.  Tuition can be very steep, around $18,000 per year for the top schools, and that doesn't include the $1000 needed for uniforms, nor the additional $1000 for books.  The key year is Year 12 for students desiring to attend university, for it is during this year that the test scores a student earns determine where s/he will be accepted and into which program. 

The academic year in Australia, like the entire educational system, is based on the British model.  It is divided into four terms, the first of which begins around the first of February and ends in April.  Terms have two to three week holidays separating them, except at Christmas when most students have a six week or longer summer break (saying Christmas and summer holidays in the same sentence will never feel quite right).  I think this has several advantages to the North American school calendar, including less fatigue throughout the year due to the evenly-spaced holiday breaks, as well as the benefit of less catch up required at the beginning of a new year.  This may in part explain why at Katie's school the first three-and-a-half weeks are devoted to something called House Concerts rather than being required for review.  Homework is kept to an absolute minimum as every single student is required to be involved in the productions.

To better describe the House Concerts, I will back up a bit and explain that the students in each year level are divided into classes, called forms.  Each form is assigned to one of six houses at Presbyterian Ladies College, all named after Scottish castles.  Katie belongs to Balmoral, while her friend Rebekah was assigned to Atholl.  The other four houses are Stirling, Glamis (pronounced Glawms), Rosslyn, and Leven.  Each house elects captains and various other leaders.  There is no sorting hat at PLC, but daughters and sisters always belong to the same house, and the girls clearly make references to the similarities to the houses at Hogwarts.  At the beginning of the year, for example, the house captains posted a humorous request from the headmaster for common rooms a la Hogwarts, and the main character in one of the concerts was named "DumbleyFloor."  Girls also compete throughout the year to earn points for their house with the object of winning the year's House Cup.

I don't know all of the reasons behind starting the school year with House Concerts, but it appears to be a great way to get the girls in each house better acquainted across the year levels and working together for a common goal, namely putting on a great production and hopefully winning the title for their house.  Auditions are held during the first week of school for acting parts, dancing, and singing.  Each house also forms an orchestra and chooses props, lighting and sound masters.  While there are adult supervisors, all of the work is done by the girls themselves. They are given a theme and a modest budget, and then must put together something between a long skit or short play that includes introductory music from the orchestra, two dance numbers which must be choreographed by the girls, and at least two songs performed by ensembles.

Katie's involvement in her house concert included assisting with painting the props on Saturdays (large amounts of paint ended up on clothing and skin), and performing the role of the alarm clock.  This suited her well, because she was able to remain hidden behind a giant cardboard clock which periodically went off (she waved it up and down).  We were amazed at the backdrop the girls created under the leadership of a clearly talented art captain, but unfortunately were not permitted to take pictures.

Each house has a house color.  Balmoral's color is white, and for this reason Katie often wears a white ribbon in her hair to school.  I noticed the ribbons in schoolgirls' hair during our exploratory visit in February of 2010.  I don't think we have seen so many ribbons and bows since we lived in Texas, and certainly never at the secondary level.

After House Concerts, Year 7 students have a fairly normal two weeks, and then they are off to camp.  Outdoor Education is considered essential in Australia, with all student going on some type of camp beginning around Year 4.  Students are challenged to perform physical tasks they have never before attempted, and they learn how to safely bushwalk, as well as how to sleep out in the bush in tents, and cook for themselves.  Katie is "on camp" as I write, and we are looking forward to welcoming her back on Friday and hearing all about it.  She was instructed to take lots of pictures, some of which I hope will appear in a future post.

There are still many new experiences ahead, but the school year appears to be off to a great start for our eldest.  She has been the one, really, to climb the learning curve, and her determination has served her well.  One funny thing that I never thought to tell her about were school bells.  Her Year 6 teacher told me that she nearly jumped out of her skin on her first day every time the bell rang, and I know there were other things that caused occasional anxiety.  We have yet to hear Katie complain about any aspect of school life, however, and she even seems happy to do her homework each night.  For this and for so much more we are grateful.

 

Look Who's Eight

Celebrate early and often seems to have been the motto for Sophie's birthday this year.  Her grandma started things off with a homemade birthday cake two weeks before the big day, followed of course by presents.

No birthday down under would be complete without a visit to Trampoline.

One week prior to the big day, we enjoyed lunch at the Snooty Fox in the Dandenongs, a British style pub.  The food was superb, but we waited well over an hour for it, making a return visit rather doubtful.

In lieu of a "friend birthday party," which she would have preferred, Sophie chose to ride on the Puffing Billy.  It fully lived up to her expectations, and she even assured me at one point that she was the happiest girl in the whole wide world.

\

Clear weather gave us a beautiful view of the Cardinia Reserve, one of Melbourne's primary water sources.

We spent an hour or so at the Lakeside Station with ice creams and Crimson Rosellas for entertainment.

Sunday was the official day.  We teased Sophie that she wasn't really turning eight until Monday, given that we are sixteen hours ahead of U.S. Eastern Standard Time, but she chose to stick with Sunday.  Her chocolate cake was devoured so quickly, I missed getting a picture of it.

Waiting for the big present:

I have to confess that this present was as much a gift for me as for Sophie.  She came up with the idea, but I quickly recognized that it would help organize all of the paraphanelia her American Girl dolls have collected over the past two years.  I am very grateful to my parents for transporting it here in a special suitcase. 

Sunday night we celebrated with a third cake, this time provided by the generous, thoughtful members of our church. It was a sweet ending to a beautiful day.

 

Don't Forget Your Bathers

Yesterday as James and I left to pick up the girls from school, he announced proudly from the backseat, "Mom, I buckled myself all in one go!"  One go?  Where did he get that from? I wondered.  I realized later it was from a children's book that Sophie has been reading to him from our local library, and I thought perhaps it was time for another language post.

If Americans know anything about Aussie speak, they surely think of "No worries," and that is in fact a common response, and one I have no doubt mentioned earlier.  It took me some time to figure out, however, that it is not used so much as a replacement for "No problem," as I originally assumed, or even for, "Don't worry about it."   Instead it seems to be uttered where we would say, "You're welcome." Example: "Thank you for feeding my son." "No worries" (with the emphasis on the first syllable of worries rather than on the no). The other time I hear it is as a reflexive response to information that I am giving, such as names/addresses/phone numbers.  "What is your surname?"  "Wilkin."  "No worries." When I took Katie to the doctor, a friendly young woman who insisted that we call her by her first name, she responded with No worries to nearly everything I explained about Katie's past history.  It seems to be a friendly way to pass along the sentiment of "I heard you, I understand, nothing further needs to be said."

Abbreviations continue to entertain us.  Recently, in the newspaper headlines, I found truckie, sparkie, boatie, and pokie.  The first in the list referred to an unfortunate truck driver who became lost in the outback while attempting to make a delivery.  He had neglected to bring extra water with him, and rather than staying with his vehicle, which is what you are supposed to do, he set out on foot and perished in the heat.  The boatie story had a happier ending.  There was some concern about a missing man in the aftermath of Cyclone Yasi.  He had last been seen heading to check his yacht just before the storm hit, and it was assumed he had drowned.  He was discovered two days later after he had ridden out the storm in his yacht, which he had secured somehow to mangrove trees.  In a nearby article, I read that sparkies (I assume this term refers to electricians) were much in demand after the storm, and as for the pokies, it appears that this word refers to the machines that cause so many to spend too much of their time and resources on gambling (thanks to Tahnea for helping me with this one).

When my parents were visiting in February, they met an enthusiastic young woman in a store who told them she was saving her money to travel to Calley.  They were puzzled for some time, and could only think of Calais.  Eventually they realized that she meant California.  I am not sure how we would abbreviate California other than CA perhaps, but I am almost certain no one from the eastern half of the United States would think of Cali as a possible nickname.

On another note, I can't really say that I have made much improvement in making myself understood down under.  I have adjusted a few words (MELL-bun instead of MelBOURNE, or LI-bree instead of li-BRAIR-y, or MAWK instead of Maarrk), but the vowels completely elude me, and I suspect that in the absence of a highly trained, fully experienced languaged coach, they will continue to do so for the duration of our stay here.  I am completely mystified by the pronunciation of "no," for example  It is often drawn out into a two, three or even four-syllable word, and appears to have every possible vowel sound except that long "o" to which I am accustomed.  An American friend suggested that I think of the "r" sound when attempting to say no, and this does help a little bit, but my kids agree I am nowhere close to sounding like an Aussie.

A recent episode provides an example of my difficulties.  Upon picking Cameron up from his swimming practice at 7:35pm, he informed me that he needed a swimming cap by 8am the next morning.  I put the car back into park, raced into the swimming center, and was delighted to discover that yes, they do sell swim caps (for the modest fee of $12).  When asked which color I preferred, I asked for "anything bright" in the vain hope that he would be less likely to lose it.  The helpful attendant ignored the dozens of brightly colored caps on the counter, and rummaged for some time in the cupboard below.  At length she triumphantly produced a black cap, explaining that while she could not find a gray one, black would perhaps be suitable.  Huh?  When I pronounced "bright," she heard "gray."  This kind of thing happens to me all of the time.

I leave you with part of a birthday party invitation received recently by Katie.  It contains a couple of abbreviations, as well as another word we are gradually learning to use in place of swim suit.