Trip 4: August 17, Part 2

We’re far enough north now that it’s HOT. Yes, it’s winter here, but the Equator is close enough that moving farther north warms things up. This actually makes most things easier, as we need not worry about getting chilly at night.

Walked around town. Taking photos of the famous Birdsville Hotel and Pub, the defunct Royal Hotel, and a clinic that “took me back” to a previous adventure. A couple of trips ago, Richard and Nikki again as travel companions, we had stopped at a town called Hawker, near the Flinders Ranges. There we visited a museum at Hawker Motors, with both the business and the museum having been created by Fred Teague. But before he’d settled in Hawker, Teague had, among numerous other jobs, spent 18 months driving the Marree-to-Birdsville mail route. It was Teague who hauled all the material for building the clinic. (And it was during that visit to Hawker that Richard had promised that someday, if I made another trip to Australia, we could travel the Birdsville Track.)

Another willy willy blew past us, as we continued making our way through town. We then stopped at a splendid museum—the Working Museum—which I won’t describe in detail because the enthusiastic but aging owner, John Menzies, said that, if he couldn’t sell it, he’d be closing it down—and that is what happened in 2011. Pity. (But if you’re curious, there are a number of videos on YouTube of this remarkable one-man effort.)

Next stop was the odd, old cemetery, a historic site that is the final resting place of many of the areas early pioneers, as well as some more recent residents of the town. Then we headed back to camp. With a couple of hours until our dinner reservation (at the Birdsville Hotel!), we each headed off to amuse ourselves. Nikki went to the library. Richard went to buy more supplies. I spent my time looking for birds. In addition to all the birds we’ve seen everywhere, there were white-headed stilts, also known as pied stilts (Himantopus leucocephalus —always good to travel with someone who has bird books), and exquisite little, bright-yellow that I didn’t find in the book but Nikki later told me were finches. But as sunset approached, I hiked into town to get a photo of the Birdsville Hotel in the diminishing light —an iconic image.

When Nikki and Richard returned, we all headed into the Pub/Hotel for an iconic evening—my treat, as they had put so much effort into making this a great trip. We started with drinks in the bar (and I was happy to have a cold Strongbow cider), then into the dining room, where I enjoyed a delightful and generous rack of lamb with “Saxon sauce”—a brown gravy with mint. Nice veggies. Nikki had kangaroo and Richard had steak—all good portions. Dessert was lovely, too. I had blueberry pudding. Of course, all was more wonderful because of the location. The sturdy, white walls, stone floor, and wood-beamed roof of the old hotel created a good setting for a celebratory meal. Chef came out to chat with customers once everyone was served. Classic white chef’s jacket, but with a baseball cap. Bearded and with a limp. I imagined for him the multi-faceted career that seems so common out here, possibly involving horses at some point, and injury—so a suitably quirky character for an outback pub.)

I was amused to see that there was an impressive computer setup near the bar. Plus Nikki told me she’d been able to get on the Internet at the library. So Birdsville is still mighty remote, but no longer quite so isolated.

As we exited the pub/hotel, we struck up a conversation with a group from Adelaide, and we chatted for nearly an hour about travel in Australia—standing in the middle of the street (not a lot of traffic here).

Then it was back to camp and to our waiting sleeping bags. (Though not without a few moments of enjoying the night sky.)

Trip 4: August 12, Part 1

Spectacular sunrise. Warmer day, and the camp ground has good facilities, so I got a chance to shower and wash my hair before we head out bush. It may be a few days before I have the chance again. By the time I was heading back from the ablution block to our camp site, the corellas were all awake and greeting the morning with their usual cacophony.

Breakfast, then time to take camp apart, pack the 4WD, hitch the camping trailer, and head out. Quick stop in town to say good-bye to some of Richard’s friends at the tourist center, then on the road, heading north on the Silver City Highway. We’ll be on sealed roads on and off for the next hour or so, and then it will be nothing but unpaved roads—dirt and/or rocks—for the next several days.

Stopped at Stephens Creek, a watercourse that, like so many in this area, is generally dry, but has enough moisture in the soil from during the wet season that it is lined with trees. As much as I love the open, red wilderness, I am always drawn to the contrast of a dry creek bed shaded by hundreds of massive river red gums. Wonderful. Enjoyed the beauty and took a lot of photographs. Richard related that, a bit farther upstream, there is a dam that has created a reservoir, but that was not visible from where we crossed the creek. By this point in the journey, the road was dirt and the ride was getting rougher. This is when Richard’s skill and experience behind the wheel became vital.

For being in the seeming middle of nowhere, there was a surprising amount of history around us. We are now traveling on the route that explorers Burke and Wills and Charles Sturt took on their various treks northward, as they attempted to cross the continent. We crossed the Mount Gibbs Station, where Charles Rasp, who discovered the ore body that would be named Broken Hill, once worked as a boundary rider. Passed the Corona Station, once managed by Alfred Dickens, son of Charles Dickens.

Wildlife was wonderfully abundant: red kangaroos, galahs, wedge-tailed eagles, kites, and a lot of emus. We could also see, off in the decision, a building storm. But it was far enough away from us that we didn’t have to worry, at least not yet.

The land around us now is arid and fairly desolate, and yet the number of faces that desolation wears is fascinating. There are different rocks, scrub, terrain, animals, colors. Always something to look at.

About noon, we stopped at the Pack Saddle Roadhouse. This is the only roadhouse between Broken Hill and our destination, Tibooburra. The roadhouse is named for nearby Pack Saddle Hill. There were cold drinks available, plus surprisingly wonderful lunch options, including tuna in satay sauce. Purchases made, we headed to the top of Pack Saddle Hill, where we enjoyed a picnic lunch.

Trip 4: August 11, Part 1

Woke this morning to the shriek and warble of hundreds of little corellas. A book Richard had brought along related that breeding season for little corellas (Cacatua sanguinea) is August through October, so it seems probably that that’s why we’re seeing them here in such great numbers.

Up and breakfasted, we headed into town, where we arranged a walking tour of Broken Hill. Our guide, Jack Harris, worked in the mines for 42 years—so definitely part of the story he was telling. Jack doesn’t think the mines will last a lot longer, however.

Wealth of information was shared, some of it related to mining here, but much of it reaching far beyond Broken Hill.

Average rainfall here is 9-1/2 inches per year.

The Kintore Mine was the richest silver mine in the world: 1/2 ton of silver to 1 ton of dirt.

The nearby Triple Chance mine was a source of feldspar, muscovite, and beryl (“triple” because of the three minerals) became famous for supplying large beryl crystals that became the source of the beryllium metal used in the NASA Apollo Space Program. Surprisingly, the mine was started by a woman, Tess Alfonsi from Italy. In addition to the beryl, she was also the nation’s largest producer of feldspar.

A radio station in Broken Hill that he inherited was part of the beginning of Rupert Murdock’s media empire.

The iron lung was developed in Adelaide.

The first religious service held in Broken Hill was offered by the Salvation Army in 1884.

Wesley Church was the first solidly built building in Broken Hill. This was because initially, it was believed that the town would be a flash in the pan, so people only built iron prefab huts.

During World War II, millions of dollars in gold were held in the Broken Hill jail. The gold was not just Australian, but was also from the Bank of England the government of the Netherlands. Definitely safe from the invading Nazis here!

A stroll through Sturt Park, named for explorer Charles Sturt, brought us to the Titanic Bandsmen Memorial. The idea for this memorial originated among local band members who wanted to honor the members of the band on the ill-fated ship, who played hymns as the ship sank, to keep the doomed passengers calm. The monument is a broken column, and in the iconography of monuments, that broken column means a life cut short.

The somewhat exotic looking tower on top of the old town hall was once a fire look-out station.

Tour over, we headed to an old-fashioned sandwich shop for lunch. I had two items that had become favorites on my first visit—meat pie with sauce and “iced coffee.” These are pretty iconic items. (In fact, if you’re interested, I did a full post on meat pies a few years ago.) As for “iced coffee,” this is actually cold, coffee-flavored milk, rather than actual coffee. Nikki told me that she’d read that milk flavored with coffee sells at almost the same rate as beer. Nikki and Richard also went into some detail explaining how to make a meat pie. And then it was time to continue our exploration.

Trip 4:August 5, Part 2

Leaving the Observatory museum, I headed down the hill and through the Argyle Cut to the Rocks. There, I did a bit of wandering. The Argyle Stores are much more posh and upscale than when I was there before (and, to me, seemed less fun). But a bit farther along, I found plenty of more fun, less posh shops. Hmmm. I may have to buy another t-shirt. But as I shopped, I suddenly became acutely aware of hunger. Time to look for lunch.

I turned in at the charming, old (1844) Orient Hotel. The grill was advertising a special of Australian beef, which sounded like a great option. I entered a bright, spacious room of tall windows, white table clothes, crystal, silver, and great service. A pianist was playing. Perfect. The menu offered many appealing dishes that utilized Australian ingredients: king prawns with macadamia nuts, wild barramundi with quenelles of bush tomatoes, and red curry of Balmain bugs. Wow. However, after a bit of an internal debate, I went with my first choice—the beef. Good choice. A lovely steak arrived piled high with sautéed onions, with tomatoes, zucchini, and au gratin potatoes. Lovely. And a final nice touch was the chocolate that came with my coffee

Then I was off again, hiking through the Rocks, around Circular Quay, to the Opera House, and then up into the Botanic Gardens. The birds were abundant today, and they always delight me. The gardens are extensive and glorious, and so consumed a fair bit of time. Noteworthy (other than the general beauty) was the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates. This 148-year monument is a copy of one built in Athens in 334 b.c., and the splendid Greek confection looked quite comfortable surrounded by palm trees. Another delight was coming across a “bird man” feeding his large fan club—dozens of white cockatoos, Australian mynahs, and ibises, plus, of course, pigeons and sea gulls.

About 5:00, I started to make my way across town (it has gotten more built up and more crowded) to Chinatown (which has expanded considerably), to meet Brian by 6:00 p.m. We strolled around looking for a likely spot, finally settling on a Chinese restaurant Brian had heard about. Kung pao lamb and stir-fried prawns with garlic sauce were a good choice.

Chinatown was selected both for the reliably good food and for its proximity to the Central Station, so it was only a short walk to where we could catch the train back out to the suburbs. One final fun adventure (or at least the sort of thing I always enjoy): we headed for Wooly’s for grocery shopping. (Wooly’s is short for Woolworth’s, which in Australia is a grocery store chain unrelated to F. W. Woolworth in the U.S.). I always enjoy a good grocery store, and here, the fun was in both seeing things I remembered from previous trips and checking out the unfamiliar. Couldn’t help but notice that the lamb section was much larger than it would be in any mainline grocery store I know back home.

Then back to the house and to the waiting Mardi. Tea and conversation filled the rest of the evening. Lovely day.

And because it’s always fun to learn a bit more about a specific location, here’s a video of the Orient Hotel, where I enjoyed lunch and a bit of history today.

A Treat from 1930s Australia

As a food historian, I always enjoy learning about old recipes. I’ve tasted and tested recipes from a wide range of nations and time periods. Today, I saw a video of a recipe from Australia’s past, and while I haven’t tested this one myself, as is often true of people who cook a lot, I can “taste” it based on what I know of the ingredients. So I’ll add it to my “try soon” folder—but today, as it is from 1930s Australia, I thought I’d share it here. This is a channel created by a Canadian gentleman (which the pronunciation of words such as “about” will make clear) who specializes in dishes from old cookbooks. He also shares a bit of background on the dishes and how foods evolve, which is also fun.

A perfect little something for an afternoon tea. Enjoy.

Here Comes the Easter Bilby

Certainly all Australians and probably many who are simply interested in Australia will have heard of the horrific problems created by the introduction of rabbits. With no predators to keep populations under control, rabbits became a genuine plague in Australia, destroying crops and native plants and out-competing indigenous wildlife. So, a few decades ago, an Aussie chocolatier decidesd it was time to step away from chocolate bunnies at Easter and honor a local animal that had suffered because of the rabbit invasion — the bilby. So now, if you’re Down Under for Easter, you can search out a confection that is not just a sweet treat but that also helps preserve indigenous fauna.

Here’s a video to show a bit more of that history — and so you know what a bilby looks like, if you get a chance to find one, either real or confectionary.

September 16, Part 2

Judy and Geoff had picked a lovely spot near Gulf Station for us to enjoy the picnic lunch they’d packed. The weather was perfect. Food and conversation were excellent. But our next stop would really put the final touch on making the day perfect.

We drove a bit farther from the green mountains into an area of splendid, green vineyards, finally stopping at the Domaine Chandon winery. This winery is the Australian branch of France’s great Moët & Chandon. This winery, like its parent operation, specializes in sparkling wines. (Can’t call them champagne, of course, since we’re nowhere near Champagne.) One can buy bubbly by the glass, and it comes with a few elegant nibbles (we had a spinach and pine-nut dip with house-made crackers and a small cluster of lovely, chilled grapes). Our first sampling was of a Blanc de Blancs, which was lovely and light with tiny bubbles. Next up was a D.C. Cuvée Riche N.V., a rich, slightly sweet, elegant, golden delight that made a lovely dessert.

As good as the wine was, the view was better. Huge windows opened onto views across the sprawling vineyard and, in the not to far distance, the splendid greenness of the Dandenong Mountains. What a glorious day.

This video relates more about the Domaine Chandon vineyard, and offers enough of the beauty to help you understand how beautiful and perfect an ending to this sojourn this destination was.

Finally, back home for an evening of good food and good conversation. I learned that Judy, who raises a lot of heirloom plants, is hoping to trade some of her heirloom gooseberries for some of the quinces we saw today. We talked late into the night, despite the fact that I needed to pack. Oh, well. I can sleep on the plane.

Restart

When Waltzing Australia was published in 2007, I felt certain that there would be a sequel—a book that covered the astonishing adventures I’ve had during return trips, each of which took me even farther afield.

But life intervened. I had to earn a living, so I began writing textbooks and magazine articles. Then I became increasingly drawn into food history, and a couple of books came out of that (Midwest Maize: How Corn Shaped the U.S. Heartland and Pigs, Pork, and Heartland Hogs: From Wild Boar to Baconfest). As the years went by, it seemed increasingly unlikely that I’d ever get around to that sequel.

And so, I’ve decided that this blog will stand in for that second Australia book. The adventures are now a few more years in the past, but that’s the nice thing about falling in love with a really ancient land—if you’re considering a rock that is 35 million years old, it doesn’t really matter if a few years have passed since you last saw it. So I’ll be getting back to blogging here, though not perhaps so regularly, and probably with fewer photos, because I was still using film on those last trips, and scanning slides takes a lot of time. But we’ll see. Books without wizards or werewolves don’t make one rich, so I still have to earn a living “on the side,” so there is never as much free time as one would like. But I still want to finish recording the trips back, as there were so many wonderful adventures.

Wish me luck. And hope to see you as I continue the journey.

Trip 3:Wednesday, September 6 Part 1

Up at 7:00, had breakfast, and got a tour of Nikki and Richard’s wonderful garden. (The hedges around the front gate are rosemary, so the place is fabulously fragrant.) Then we packed the ute (an Aussie pick-up/utility vehicle), hitched up the camping trailer, and headed out bush again. Richard’s years as a tour bus driver and outback guide were about to be put to good use.

We drove out of charming Nuriootpa, through delightful Greenock, among the rolling hills and spring-green fields of the Barossa Valley. Grazing sheep, vineyards full of awakening vines, and flocks of galahs alternated with small towns and large wineries.

Brief stop in Kapunda, where I photographed the town’s centennial statue of a miner. Before even bigger deposits were discovered in Burra, this was an important copper mining area.

Then on the road to Clare, rolling through a countryside that might be English but for the gum trees. Into Gilbert Valley, where large patches were brilliant yellow with canola flowers.

Into Auburn, birthplace of poet C.J. Dennis, author of The Sentimental Bloke. I’m a fan, so I was pleased. If you’re interested in knowing more about Dennis and his charming verse, I posted about the poet last year: C.J. Dennis post.

As we continued through the Clare Valley, we were surrounded by vineyards, but then we drove into a grain-growing region—one of the best in the world, Richard told me. Their specialty is malting barley that is so highly regarded it is even exported to Germany.

Before long, we could see the lower Flinders Ranges in the distance, across the miles of undulating, green farm land. We pulled into Georgetown, a classic little old town with buildings of field stone, with iron lace and wooden verandas much in evidence. We past the old railway hotel, a feature of most of these old towns, and stopped at the charming 1912 General Store. The interior of the store was as iconically rural Australian as the exterior. Here, we enjoyed a lunch of excellent meat pies with sauce and locally produced ginger beer.

Then on the road again, heading toward Port Pirie, across the hills, then swinging north, with the lower Flinders to our right and Spencer Gulf to our distant left. Yellow, gold, and purple flowers lined the road.

We joined Highway 1 and continued toward Port Augusta. We stopped briefly to watch stumpy-tailed lizards crossing the road. Samphire flats stretched toward the water. (Samphire is an edible succulent plant, sometimes called sea asparagus, pickleweed, or sea beans, that grows on some shorelines, marshy areas, and mud flats.)

The country not directly adjacent to the water was drier than that we had left behind. The mountains got closer and higher. Glorious flowering bushes surrounded us. We got closer to Spencer Gulf as got nearer to Port Augusta.

Not surprising, of course, but it’s quite a bit colder here than it was at the top of the continent. However, as we drive farther north, the clouds are clearing and the bright sun is warming things up a bit. Fortunately, Nikki was able to lend me some warm clothes for camping out in colder weather.

And into Port Augusta. Just a short stop, to buy groceries for our stay out bush—and to stretch our legs after the long drive. After buying food, we headed across the street to the grog shop, to buy some Strongbow cider. (I had learned to love Strongbow during my first trip to Australia–well before it was available in the U.S.) Then we were off again, heading for the Gawler Ranges.

Trip 3:Monday, September 4, Part 1

Up at sunrise. A moment’s excitement upon discovering a tarantula in the loo. There was a grasshopper, as well, but that was less daunting.

Headed alone to the beach for as long a walk as I could manage. I had until 9 a.m. at my leisure, but the tour was scheduled to end at 10, and we still had to drive to town. But that gave me a couple of hours to enjoy my surroundings. I was joined by wading birds, an egret, and sea eagles. Mud hoppers skipped across the mud. (Also known as mud skippers, these are fish that can actually breathe air.) Snails emerged from their shells and explored for food. Red rocks, black rocks, gray mud, blue water. Beautiful morning.

Mud Hopper

Layered Rock

Snails, large and small

I lingered on the beach till the last possible moment, then headed back to camp, to climb into the 4WD one last time.

Most of the gang was dropped off at the posh Mangrove Resort, but Athena, Belinda, and I continued on to the more modest, less expensive, but still very nice Tropicana. The yard was filled with flowers, particularly the wildly fragrant frangipani, so the place smelled heavenly.

We allowed ourselves half an hour for settling in and showering, and then the three of us met up and set off to see the sights. Our first stop was at the nearby Broome Historical Museum. It was a wonderful little museum, filled with relics, photos, and documents from Broome’s earliest settlement to the glory days of pearling through the devastation of World War II (Broome was bombed by the Japanese), and up to the present. There were artifacts from all the many peoples who have inhabited (and do still) the region: Aborigines, Europeans, Japanese, Malay, Indonesians. Delightful place, and astonishing history.

Leaving the museum, we walked on the road bordering the mangroves and beach. We continued to be amazed by the brilliance of the turquoise water and stopped frequently to photograph it.

We visited an art gallery and an upscale jewelry store (this stretch of coastline is famous for its huge, exceptionally white pearls, and they’re worth seeing even if they are too costly to consider), then continued toward Chinatown. The gum trees along the road were in bloom and were wonderfully fragrant. Ibises wandered on the court house lawn, and kites (the birds) soared overhead. We all commented that this was a good place to ease ourselves back into civilization, as there was enough of the exotic to make us feel that this was still an adventure.

Chinatown was a real shock. When I first visited, it was a quiet, sleepy area, even though it’s the center of town. The broad streets then were covered in red dust but otherwise featureless. There were no sidewalks. The cars parked somewhat randomly down the center of the street tended to be rusting, practical, and sporting protective bars to minimize damage when encountering kangaroos or water buffalo. The stores were very basic tin-roofed structures that were generally Chinese owned. Now, though still open and amiable, the area is very upscale, with nothing more than a couple of Chinese restaurants to give validity to the name “Chinatown.” Carnarvon Street now has sidewalks and a parkway covered with grass and dotted with palm trees. The street is lined with posh boutiques, souvenir shops, jewelry stores, health food stores, nail salons, tour operators, and delis serving quiche and mocha lattés. Wow! What a disappointment. I had so looked forward to the funky, rustic, multi-lingual Broome that I had been telling Belinda and Athena about before we arrived.

That said, at least it was a convenient disappointment. We browsed through a few shops, where both Belinda and Athena found gifts to buy for folks back home. Then we popped into the comfortable (air conditioned!!) and apparently popular Bloom’s Gourmet Deli, where I had iced coffee and the mixed salad plate (Greek, pasta, and potato). Athena asked if any of us had any sense of being in a remote corner of the Australian Outback. No. Well, at least not until we went to the restroom, which is a corrugated iron shack at the far side of the hot, dusty backyard.

One thing on Carnarvon Street that had not changed from my previous trip was Sun Pictures. I photographed it in the daylight, and we agreed to return this evening.

(For more on the changes in Broome, check out my earlier post on Broome Old And New. There, you can see contrasting photos of what I saw during my different visits.)