The Plunge Down Under

The Ferry to Manly

I have whittled down our Sydney pictures to five hundred or so, about half of what we started with, but clearly I haven't come close to sharing that many on this blog.  I felt at least one more post was in order, and for this one, I turned to my husband for inspiration.  Ross had no hesitation when I queried him as to his favorite part of Sydney.  For him, the highlight was the ferry ride to Manly Beach.  Bondi Beach is the more famous beach in Sydney, but since it required an hour long bus ride, we chose Manly because we could reach it by boat.  We were blessed with four hours of sunshine for this excursion, and we took full advantage by spending the entire time outdoors.

Opera House at Sunrise:

We had been warned of rough seas once we passed through the heads at the entrance to the harbor, and sure enough, when we entered open waters, the ferry began to rock and roll with a pitch that made me grateful we had not signed up for a day of deep sea fishing.  Thankfully it was only a short distance from the heads to the Manly Wharf.

We were amazed at all of the surfers at Manly Beach as we shivered in our multiple layers.  Cameron wished he had brought his bathers, and I do believe he would have joined them if he could have.  He had to make do with a scenic family walk to Shelly Beach, however.  Friends have told us that one of the key differences between Sydney and Melbourne is the beach life.  For many Sydneysiders, going to the beach is something they do frequently year-round, and this makes the lifestyle there more casual.  Melbourne has beaches, but the water is freezing cold, and there is no surf.  Food and fashion (and footy), more than surfing, play central roles in the city's culture.

Lunch outdoors was very pleasant, if pricey, with the help of a heater next to our table.

I have yet to try an Ozzie burger, described below.  I can't quite imagine egg and beets on a hamburger.

The clouds began rolling in as we journed back to Circular Quay, making us grateful for the hours of sun we enjoyed at Manly.

Shopping With Gillian

I discovered the other day, somewhat to my surprise, that clothes shopping can actually be enjoyable.  For that, all of the credit must go to my friend Gillian, who graciously agreed to serve as a much-needed guide and stylist.  It surely helped that we started things off with a beautiful cup of coffee and a chat, and took a break mid-way through for toasted sandwiches.  However, I think the key ingredient that turned what would normally be a dreaded chore into something fun was Gillian's genuine enthusiasm for shopping.  This she combines with a love of fashion, two things I lack altogether.

For our big day out we met up at Chadstone, either the largest or second largest shopping mall in the southern hemisphere.  That fact alone is enough to scare me away, and up to this point, I have visited it mainly because it houses a Kmart.  Once or twice I have walked its spacious corridors, but I have been far too intimidated to actually begin browsing and trying on clothes.  That all changed Wednesday of last week.  Gillian had our itinerary all planned.  Having done some scouting ahead of time, she knew exactly where we would be headed and had even zoned in on some articles of clothing she thought I ought to try.  This, it turns out, is exactly what I need when I go shopping, namely, someone to tell me precisely where to go, what to do, and most importantly, what not to buy.

I should explain at this point that a few weeks ago Gillian helped me go through my closet and weed out things that did not fit properly or had long since served their purpose. This was rather humbling at times, but appreciated just the same, and although I did hide a few things from her, I came away with at least a slightly better idea of what I should and should not be wearing.  Of course I still often manage to get some part of an outfit wrong, whether it be the color, the shape, the combination of articles, or some other aspect that would never occur to me, so I suspect I will continue to require guidance for quite some time to come. 

Having conquered my closet, we felt a shopping trip was in order. Since I am headed for the northern hemisphere within the next week, our focus for shopping was mainly summer attire.  This sent us to the clearance racks, which is just as well given the steep prices of nearly everything we buy here.  It also helped salvage my conscience, which continually questions whether or not I truly need something new.  This is not a problem for Gillian, and I confess to feeling a bit jealous. 

I did consider bringing my big camera with me shopping, but in the end I left it at home.  Shopping alone was challenge enough for me without fussing over photos, so all I have is this one from my iphone:

Here I am yesterday afternoon, wearing two of the things purchased as a result of this trip:

I downloaded the next few pictures from Gillian's collection, because in them she happens to be wearing scarves in a variety of ways, as well as long boots.  Boots and scarves are two fashion essentials for Melbourne women in the winter months.  I have grown to love them both, mostly for their warmth, but also because they do help one feel more stylish and put together.

Gillian is a bit worried about me shopping on my own during our five weeks in the U.S. without her guidance.  I have told her that in the past my sisters-in-law have offered a helping hand, and perhaps it will work out for them to go with me.  If not, I can always utilize the iphone to send pictures back and forth for her approval.  For her help, but more than that, for her friendship, I am truly grateful.

 

One Week From Today

In one week from today, if all goes as planned, we will be in the air between Melbourne and Sydney.  Twenty-four hours later, we will hopefully have made it all of the way to Cleveland, Ohio.  Once again anticipation is running high as we count down the days before reconnecting with loved ones.  It is a different feeling, this time around, than last December, however.  I think we all feel much more settled in Australia, and there is a definite feeling of regret mixed in with the excitement for the people and the things we will miss during our five weeks back in North America.

A friend asked me on Sunday if it will be hard for us to return again to Melbourne, and I have been giving that question some thought.  I do not know for sure, of course, exactly how we will feel.  I am certain that we will hate to say good-bye to family members and friends.  But with the possible exception of Cameron, I suspect we will also be eager to return.  My initial worries over how the children would adjust to living down under have now turned into concern over what it will be like to move them back home again when our stint is up.  It could well be that the latter adjustment will be more difficult than the first.

I can also be sure of one thing I will miss over the next few weeks:  beautiful coffee.  The other day I heard a lady thanking the barista at a cafe near us for the "beautiful" coffee, and I wondered what exactly she meant.  I think beautiful was used to refer to the experience of drinking it, and to the quality of the espresso, but it is true that the coffee at this particular cafe is visually appealing.  In the interest of research for this blog, I returned there this morning to order one myself, just so I could take a picture.  I noticed several books on the art of making coffee in the cafe, and I flipped through them while waiting for mine.  Whole chapters were devoted to subjects such as what constitutes a proper grinder, how to tamp down the coffee grounds, and how to pour the milk among many others.

Aside from having to settle for watery coffee, and from the long-haul flights and the miseries of jet-lag, it seems as if we are living in the best of both worlds with this opportunity to travel back home again.  I am humbled as I consider all of those to whom we owe a debt of gratitude.  From the family members who have supported us in this move, the new friends who have welcomed us so warmly, those who have figured out how to send us letters and packages through the Australia Post, and to all of those who have emailed us and submitted comments after reading about our adventures, we express our thankfulness and appreciation.  We also look forward to seeing you in the near future.

Sophie Goes to School

Four months ago, with more than a few misgivings, we sent our third-born to school.  She was so determined that she wanted to go to school in Australia, and I had great confidence in her teacher, but it was a bit hard to walk away knowing that her learning curve would be rather steep.  James and I watched her through the classroom window for a while, she looked up and gave us a faint smile and a wave, and off we went. 

Sophie told me a few weeks later that she had never felt more alone in her life than when she sat at her desk on that first morning and watched the other girls greet one another.  Most of them had been together for two years already, and it would take some work on her part to conquer her timidity and make some friends.  One of her strategies was to raise her hand and confide in her teacher that she didn't have anyone to play with.  Mrs. Nash would then call her up to the front of the room and ask for volunteers.  I'm not so sure this method would work well in higher grades, but fortunately for Sophie it seemed to answer well. Before long she was right in the thick of figuring out which friend she would play with at which time during the school day.

Presbyterian Ladies College has a strong emphasis on music.  I recently counted more than two dozen faculty members that teach music in some capacity at the school, and there may well be more. Free introductory group lessons for various instruments are offered at different year levels in junior school, including violin in year two.  We hesitated at adding one more new thing to Sophie's schedule, but she has loved her lessons thus far.  We were all thrilled when she played her first recognizable tune a few weeks ago.  I would like to report that her siblings never complain when she practices, but unfortunately, I cannot.

When it comes to the academic side of things, Sophie has been in her element.  Unlike her older two siblings, my third child has been known to request additional seatwork, more workbooks, and more writing assignments.  I was not too worried, therefore, that she would find the change from homeschooling to school life terribly demanding, although it was true that she found the day to be rather long in her first term.  During her period of adjustment she never asked to be taken out of school, but she did think it might be nice if I could find a job at the school so she could see me from time to time.  I was touched, and told her that we would carve out special snuggling time when she arrived home each day.

After focusing on outer space for the first term, the attention shifted in Sophie's classroom to life cycles for term two.  I have been pleased to see that her enthusiasm for learning has not diminished since she began attending school.  I am sure we checked out every single children's book on space in our local library, and I would frequently find Sophie copying out the text and drawings at her desk in her bedroom.  She would have loved to take two chicks home with her after they were done observing and playing with them in the classroom, but we said no.  Fortunately one of her friends had more success with her pleas, so Sophie has been able to continue visiting two of them.

The excitement of chicks in the classroom culminated in a special assembly for the entire junior school put on by Year Two.  The highlight was no doubt the performance by all the girls of the chicken dance, but before that various girls had speaking parts describing what went on in their classrooms as they watched the chicks hatch and enjoy their first few days of life.  Sophie was asked to read a speech she had prepared on responsibility, and we were so proud of her for bravely accomplishing this task in front of several hundred students and guests.  My pictures did not turn out.  I needed a tripod as my hands were shaking too much for me to hold the camera still enough in the poor indoor lighting.

The entire school runs on an alternating Week A/Week B schedule.  This allows long periods of time to be devoted to specialist subjects every other week, and seems to be an efficient use of time.  Every second week Sophie has a two hour physical education class, while the alternate week provides more than a two hour stretch for an art lesson.  Swimming is scheduled every week, and it seems most students take additional lesson outside of school time.  We are thinking that our children should return to the United States much better swimmers than when they left.  Calling swimming a national obsession here would not be too far off the mark.

Here is Sophie just about to leave for school on a cold, and very dark, winter morning:

Sophie's teacher has been absolutely marvelous.  She is very soft spoken, but in spite of this, or indeed perhaps because of it, she has that wonderful capability to maintain order in the classroom without ever raising her voice. Occasionally she will remind the girls that a particular behavior makes her cross, and that seems to be all that is required for it to cease.  I think I need to take some lessons from her to implement on the home front. Sophie is convinced she has the best teacher in the school, and I am inclined to agree.  For this, and for so much more, we are truly grateful.

Sydney Harbor Lights Up

Our weekend in Sydney may have been mostly wet and gray, but we did land there for a festival of lights that brightened things up considerably.  It reminded me of how much we appreciate the Christmas lights during the dark days of winter in North America.  We did our best to capture the city after dark without the advantages of a tripod.  This proved especially challenging whilst riding on the ferries.

Our first ferry ride just happened to be at the magical hour of twilight, my favorite time of day. We left in the setting sun and returned one hour later when it was nearly dark.

One interesting thing we learned about the Sydney Harbor Bridge is that the pylons served no initial purpose other  than to allay public concerns over the safety of the bridge's structure, and to add aesthetic value.  They have since been put to use for various things including a museum and traffic cameras.

 

 

The Best of Times and The Worst of Times in the Blue Mountains

We have driven for hours to and from the Blue Mountains, we have wound our way through the foothills of the Blue Mountains, we have hiked through a rain forest in the Blue Mountains, we have been to several outlooks in the Blue Mountains, we have ridden two cable cars and a train through a valley in the Blue Mountains, but we have yet to see the Blue Mountains.  As far as we are concerned, they may not even exist.

The lowest point of our excursion to the Blue Mountains happened about an hour and a half into our journey.  Katie had been complaining of not feeling well, and after a particularly curvy stretch of road, she leaned forward and whispered that she had just thrown up.  We were on a tourist bus with a dozen or so other passengers, all of whom, I noted gratefully, appeared to be asleep, but we felt very trapped.  I handed back my supply of tissues, located a spare jumper and jacket for her, and told her she would just have to endure.  James had already been begging to return to the hotel for at least an hour, and as we still had eight hours remaining before our designated return time, I acknowledged to myself that booking this trip had been a big mistake.

Several hours later, our attitudes had been completely transformed.  The rainforest hike, our exuberant tour guide Dave, and a trio of rides through the mist saved the day.  In spite of never seeing the mountains themselves, we returned feeling it had been a (mostly) wonderful day.

After the obligatory stop for morning tea, which sadly included neither tea nor coffee, we stopped at a national park to look for kangaroos.  This is a popular stop for overseas visitors, of course.  I'm not sure if the Australians in our group even got off the bus to have a look.

Our guide pointed out a wombat burrow nearby, and even climbed in to help demonstrate the size of it.  He didn't let the kids go in, explaining that he did not care for them to meet up with a potentially angry wombat.

Wombat tracks:

Next stop was an unofficial lookout, unofficial because there are no safety rails or warning signs about the steep drop into the valley below.  Dave cheerfully cautioned us, explaining that he would rather not wait around for an ambulance.  He then proceeded to perch himself on the edge that juts out in the picture below and to recommend it as the best photo opportunity of the day.  I desperately wanted to pose, but Ross would have none of it.  He played the role of anxious mother hen, constantly shooing the kids (and me) away from the edge and back toward the bus.

Our fourth stop of the day (we were yearning for lunch by this time but had to keep going) involved a hike to see a waterfall.  Because of the weather, we had the privilege of hiking an extra long distance that involved three hundred steps downward in the steady rain through numerous muddy puddles just to get a glimpse of the water.  At one point James announced, from his perch on his father's shoulders, "This is not so fun.  I am soaked, hungry, cold, tired, and I just want to go home."  He was not amused by the sympathetic chuckles from the other grownups, most of whom seemed to echo his sentiments.  We all persevered, however, and by the end of the walk back up to the bus, no one could complain of being cold in spite of the bus thermometer reading a mere 40 degrees F.

Katie managed a smile in front of the water fall.

We saw nothing at this overlook, but it was nice to get out of the rain for a bit.  After this point, things brightened considerably, due in large part to a satisfying lunch in a Chinese restaurant in the mountain town of Leura.  From Leura, it was a short drive to a valley that in the late 1800s was home to an active coal mine.  It has since been turned into a tourist trap with its cable car rides and what is proclaimed to be the world's steepest railway.  It was a trap well worth falling into, we decided, in spite of the rain.  Our guide showed us the brochure which proclaimed the rides to be "even better in the rain."  "That's a load of rubbish," he confided, "but you may as well try them since you are here."  His unflagging cheerfulness diminished somewhat at this point as he predicted we would be unlikely to see anything at all.  Thankfully he was wrong.

Shivering as we waited our turn, we were all dismayed to realize that the cable car was open to the elements.  The fog lifted slightly, however, making us forget how cold we were, and revealing the outline of the famous Three Sisters.

We enjoyed a very brief moment of sun in the distance.

Our second ride involved a closed cable car, which was a good thing due to the very steep drop on our initial descent into the valley.

Down in the valley our fearless leader, still in short sleeves, provided an endless stream of commentary on our trek through the rain forest.  He asserted that the mining rope left on the ground since 1890 was authentic, as was the labeled termite nest, but told us not to believe any part of the recreated display of the Katoomba Mine.  Not one part of it was as it would have been originally, he claimed.

For all but Sophie, the most thrilling part of the day involved a roller coaster-like ride on the world's steepest railway.  Originally built to haul coal up from the valley, it was eventually re-opened for the sake of tourists who continued asking for rides long after the coal mine had closed.  I handed the camera over to Ross as a frightened Sophie required my full attention.  He proceeded to photograph all of the gray hairs in the back of my head as we raced up the mountain, but I found one that was sufficiently blurry to disguise most of them (above).  A sign recommended that children not be placed by the outer side, but that and a wimpy chain rope were the extent of the safety precautions.  Dave, always cheerful, told us that if the brakes failed, we would have nothing to worry about as none of us would survive the fall.  I am beginning to suspect that most Aussies involved in tourism get genuine pleasure out of frightening their gullible, overseas patrons.

The adrenaline from this ride lasted us through the two and half hours it took to get back to our hotel.  Dave placed us on a Captain Cook Ferry, where we had our first opportunity of the day to enjoy coffee.  Desperate for a caffeine jolt earlier in the day, I had dashed into a cafe in Leura when we were meant to be back at the bus.  Feeling a bit guilty, we gulped it down before re-joining our group five minutes late, and perhaps because of the children, we avoided the threatened lecture from Dave, who is a stickler for punctuality.

As we sailed back into Circular Quay on the Parramatta River, we were able to watch Sydney light up in the falling darkness, a most satisfactory ending to a very long day.

 

 

The Best Thing I Didn't Do in Sydney

 As I mentioned before, we breathed a sigh of relief Monday night when we landed safely back in Melbourne from Sydney, especially as we walked past a massive queue of Jet Star passengers patiently waiting to find out when they would be able to depart.  However, we soon found ourselves in a queue of our own due to an accident in the middle of the Bolte Bridge, which I have heard is supposed to be Melbourne's answer to the Sydney Harbor Bridge. This comparison, I can now report authoritatively, does no favors to the former.  There we were, however, and in an attempt to quell the growing discontent and retaliatory elbow jabbing in the back seat, I began a family discussion of the best and worst of Sydney according to the Wilkin family.

Traditionally James has not participated in these sorts of discussions, in spite of encouragement.  This time, though, he not only had a best and a worst, but an entirely new category.  "I want to tell the best thing that I didn't do," he insisted.  He held firm in spite of his siblings' assertions that such a thing was not possible, proclaiming, "The best thing I didn't do was go up the Tower!"  We had to acknowledge that he was right.  He had been talking about going up the Cindy Tower for days leading up to our trip, and due to the rainy weather, we did not feel it was worth the money to make the ascent.  The Centrepoint Tower that he had hoped to climb can be seen in the center of the picture below.

As for his best and his worst, James also had an answer that required very little contemplation on his part.  The worst was "the longest walk across that bridge."  That bridge would be the aforementioned Harbor Bridge, and he did make his way across with Ross while the rest of us climbed one of the pylons to get a view of the city.

Father and son on the dreaded walk:

Contrary to what he would have you believe, James did not walk the entire distance. 

Is it possible?  Can it be true?  Yes, I am sorry to say.  The next picture shows Ross, his first time on Sydney's famous bridge, on his blackberry.

After spying on Ross and James and failing to get their attention a second time, the remaining children and I returned to taking in the views of the city.  The 200 steps up proved well worth the effort.

We stayed right in Circular Quay, seen above, which made it very easy to get around on the city's government-run ferries.  The ferry trips would be the "best" of Sydney for both Ross and myself.  For one thing, after buying our train tickets from the airport, they cost no additional money, and three of the children rode entirely for free for the whole weekend.  That might well be the only economical part of our trip.  Keeping our four children fed proved to be rather more expensive than we would have liked.

 

When pressed, Katie admitted that she also had something for the "best thing I didn't do" category.  She would have loved to climb the bridge itself rather than just the pylon.  I looked into it, but it had a minimum age of ten years, required three hours, and cost over one hundred dollars per person.  She had to content herself with waving to those who did get to climb.

If you look closely, you can see more climbers, this time at the summit, just under the flags below.

Since she didn't get to climb the bridge, Katie decided her favorite thing in Sydney was learning about how the bridge was constructed.  It went up during the height of the Great Depression, and when it was completed in 1932, it was the world's largest spanning-arch bridge. Sydneysiders were rightfully proud of their accomplishment. Today it is the fifth longest, but remains the widest and the tallest of its kind.  Known locally as the Coathanger because of its design, the bridge affords truly spectacular views. 

Amazingly to us today, the workers on the bridge wore no safety harnesses of any kind, nor were there any safety rails in spite of the dizzying heights.  Sixteen men died during construction.

After conquering the bridge, we finished the afternoon by hanging out in the Rocks, an area that used to be the slums of Sydney but has now been transformed into a tourist mecca.  Here we found a candy store that had been recommended to us, and James later affirmed it was by far his favorite part of the weekend, his personal "best of Sydney."  We watched the making of passion fruit candy, sticking around long enough to try a free sample once it was finished.  The whole process from liquid syrup to hardened candy took about twenty minutes.

The bright yellow goo was expertly stretched over a metal hook until it was a nice creamy white color.

At the end I was the lucky recipient of the "leftover lolly" made from the discarded bits.  All of the kids were naturally quite jealous.  In the end we smashed it into pieces which were consumed over the next twenty-four hours.

I would like to have seen exactly how they make little words and sayings inside of the candy, but this is the closest we came to a demonstration.

In spite of not getting to go up the tower, I would say this four-year-old fared pretty well.

 

Sunny Sydney

The good news is that we managed to make it back to Melbourne in spite of the cloud of volcanic ash that made its way across south eastern Australia in the past thirty-six hours.  The bad news is that rather than the sun and warmer weather we were hoping for, we had the privilege of experiencing Sydney in the rain.  Winter parkas, high tech rain gear, hats, and gloves should have been in our suitcases, especially for our trek into the blue mountains.  But never mind.  When our kids were asked yesterday how they liked their trip to Sydney's mountains (after hiking for what seemed like hours through mud puddles only to come to a viewing area enshrouded in misty rain), both Cameron and Sophie responded immediately and enthusiastically, "It was great!  We loved it!" 

The other bad news is that  Sydney brought out the photographer in all of us, with the result that we came home with over one thousand pictures, only half of which do not contain the Sydney Opera House or the Harbor Bridge (or both!).  I am not sure when they will all be organized, but I will include a few that caught my eye on my first time through them.  They are from our first evening, when the sun came out to tease us about twenty minutes before setting.

The twenty minutes were enough to convince us that Sydney is every bit as beautiful as we were promised it would be, and to make the trip more than worthwhile. The rest of the story I will save for later.

Celebrating the Queen's Birthday in Sydney

For a boy who doesn't like to travel, James has been very excited about our trip to "Cindy," as he insists it is pronounced. I'm typing this from the magnificent Sydney Harbor on board a passenger ferry, and I can report that it is every bit as beautiful as we had anticipated. I will be sure to share photos and stories when we return.

Eleven Years Old Today

Amongst all of the changes this past year has brought, including one daughter well on her way to becoming a young lady, and a four year-old who insists that he is old enough to go to school just like his brother, I have been happy to note that our second born is quite content to remain firmly in the realm of boyhood.  Legos, Redwall books, Hardy Boys, and drawing battle scenes are his current passions.  The other night, after our babysitter brought over the movie Ever After, Cameron inquired of me how many more years he had before girls would become interesting to him.  Sensing that he was looking for a longer rather than a shorter number, I reponded that he had a good ten years. Sure enough, he uttered an audible sigh of relief and turned back to Star Wars battle re-enactments.

Cameron ensured that he would be popular on his birthday, at least with his fellow classmates, by passing out lolly bags at school.

His siblings managed to share the one remaining bag after school today without squabbling, much to their mom's relief.

And to fulfill his Grandmother Wilkin's request, here is the birthday boy a few weeks ago, in his winter uniform.