On the Road to Ubud

On Saturday, we set out in the morning for the area of Ubud. Situated near the center of the island, besides being a rich agricultural region, it is also known for its rich repository of Balinese arts and crafts.

Following a busy road out of the Denpasar region, which itself is lined with rattan and teak furniture makers, wood carvings and stone works, we reached Sanur, another center for Western tourists. Near Sanur, at what we came to call the intersection of Kentucky Fried Chicken and Dunkin Donuts, we stopped for a coffee and then continued along another less-trafficked artery away from the beaches and into green hills filled with lush palms and other tropical foliage and many rice paddies toward Ubud.

Along the way, we wanted to visit some of the cottage industries in villages whose now blurred boundaries were once distinguished by the different crafts represented—batik, wood, painting, silver and gold metal work, etc. Yet the art that every one in Bali seems to practice of necessity is balancing themselves—and sometimes the whole family—precariously on a motor bike while weaving in and out of Bali’s never-ending stream of traffic.

Given the lack of public transport, the motor bike is the main form of transportation for the Balinese. Along every road one sees small petrol stops where, for a few rupia, you can buy a quart of fuel in a bottle, dispense it through a red plastic funnel into your tank and continue on your way. One also notices machine shops for repair and other places to wash this essential vehicle. Each bike is carefully maintained and in all seasons is the primary mode of transportation for getting to work, for whole families—often four to a bike—getting from one place to another, as well as transporting goods for many forms of retail industry.

We saw people carrying everything imaginable on these vehicles. One man had a small kitchen on the back of his bike, the basic implements and food products for what must have been a mobile warung (the Indonesian term for snack food restaurants, which are, in function, a little like Western cafes serving as hangouts both for locals and anyone interested in a quick snack). Many folks carried sacks of rice at their feet, or bundled palm fronds for basket-weaving. Several bikes had been outfitted at the back with special carrying cages holding up to five five-gallon plastic bottles filled with mineral water for delivery to area homes and restaurants.

Some folks on motor bikes wear helmets, others don’t. Some children stand on the middle footrest, others sit in front of the driver. Some women and men in sarongs ride “side-saddle” on the back. One bike carried a family of three—father drove, mother sat on the back nursing her infant wedged in the middle between them!

Cars and motor bikes signal each other with two short beeps of the horn when attempting to pass and one to acknowledge the attempt. That is part of the choreography that keeps this dance at the right tempo and pace, mitigating collisions. Yet the most amazing sensation one perceives from those riding motor bikes is of tremendous calm; despite the frenzied flow, the cacophony of sound and overwhelming smell of diesel exhaust everyone seems to stay focused. Is that what allows them to pass each other as well as cars and trucks in spaces in between, places the uneducated eye cannot even see?

Our first stop on our Saturday journey to Ubud was at a batik-making factory. Outside, under an awning, several large looms had been set up to display the traditional craft of making the threads and weaving batik. Women wove threads into colored clusters and then into meters of patterned fabric, while on the stairs approaching the store, a man sat pouring beeswax onto a delicately patterned cloth in preparation for the several stages of dying and layering of color that would create the final elaborate and complex designs for sarongs and other garments. Since we planned to visit a temple, where the wearing of a sarong and sash is mandatory for women and men, we couldn’t resist buying some of the beautiful fabrics here.

Back in the car, we headed toward the region of Celuk, home for centuries to metal artists and jewelry makers, but stopped to visit and make an offering at our first temple—there are thousands all over Bali, since every home has a temple, as does every neighborhood, village, and region, not counting the national treasures of Besakih and Tanah Lot.

Wayan, the driver, had a sister who owned a shop in the region of Celuk and we stopped there to watch silversmiths—both old and some very young (under ten)—working machinery to craft silver strands to be cut and heated into tiny balls for the creation of some traditional Balinese designs.

The shop itself was an architectural wonder—designed around an inner court with marbled paths leading across ponds filled with koi and lotus blossoms and into the interior where displays showcased some remarkable jewelry ranging in price from inexpensive to haute and (conveniently) priced in dollars for Western buyers. A search for the rest rooms yielded this interesting sculpture indicating which door to choose to find what we needed. We picked up a few items in the shop as mementoes and gifts and continued to the next village, whose crafts were concentrated in wood.

Bali’s tourist industry has been recovering from the setbacks that both natural; and human explosions caused in 2002 (Kuta bombings) and 2005 (Indonesian tsumani). But the recovery has not been rapid enough. Our American presence seemed to amplify the sense of desperation we picked up from shopkeepers who had buoyed by the anticipation of a sale that our mere walking into a store apparently implied and were deflated if we left empty-handed. When we finally arrived in Ubud, the “quiet” in the shops ratcheted up the impact of the lack of tourist sales to such an extent that Kathy began to answer in Swedish when someone accosted her on the street with items for sale.

After lunch, we walked down Monkey Forest Road toward the Monkey Forest, a sanctuary for some of the most revered animals on this island, but first stopped in a small shop. Here was the kind of wooden carvings for which we had been looking. Out of a single piece of acacia wood, one of the shop owner’s family had carved an amazing statue of extraordinary intricacy, vitality, and expressive grace depicting the god Shiwa being transported by the god Garuda. Behind the shop stood a temple overlooking working rice paddies, which we viewed while the owner wrapped our purchases and told us about his family’s generations old craft. He clasped our hands as we left: we had clearly given him more income than he had had for a while. And knowing that gave us a kind of bittersweet satisfaction brought on by this frequently repeated reminder that you travel with your social position more firmly attached to your person than the pack on your back.
On the way back to our apartment we decided to return to Ubud for at least one more day to see the monkey sanctuary and other areas of artistic interest, knowing there would not be enough time, even if we had weeks more, to explore fully this fascinating area. And we also decided that the next day, Sunday, would be a day to catch our breath with time for reading, writing, and reflecting.

Bali High

Friday was our first full day in Bali and we settled into our villa apartment located on the southern part of the island in Bakung, part of the wider region of Bali called Bukit Badung. On the map of Bali, this is the part that looks like a small outcropping south of the main part of the island.

Situated on an elevated area in the hilly region on the road to Uluwatu, the famous hilltop temple, our villa looks north, toward Jimbaran and Kuta beaches. On clear days we can see the runway of the airport to the left of the narrow strip that connects this part of the island to the rest of Bali. If it’s not too cloudy, the top of Mt. Batur, a still active volcano that last erupted in 1963.

On its slopes sits a complex of temples, Pura Besakih. Dedicated to three key forces in Balinese Hinduism—Siwa, Brahma, and Wisnu—it is situated in what is considered the cosmological axis of Bali. Kathy wanted to take the early morning volcano hike, but since it meant getting up at 100 AM to drive two hours before the hike even begins, we won't make it this time!

The weather in Bali is tropical—balmy and humid, but here on the hill it’s cooler than at the beaches visible in the distance below us.

Our villa is luxurious and large with a chef, a butler and two assistants. And tightly guarded. (All a bit overwhelming reminder of the bombings of only a few years ago at Kuta...and of our privilege). There is a canopied king-sized bed, a large Jacuzzi in a bathroom that opens into a courtyard where we can shower under the stars. We dine outside on the balcony above the companion apartment below ours, which has a pool. Luckily for us, since it is unoccupied for now, we have been given access to the pool by the managers of the complex, an unexpected plus.

The day after arriving, following a Western-style breakfast of bacon and eggs and toast, prepared by staff to comfort us with the familiar, we decided to orient ourselves slowly with a half day tour of Nusa Dua, exploring the beach. We set out around 1000 AM with an assigned driver and, after a walk along the beach, and a sneaky dip in one of the pools at Nusa Dua Beach Hotel and Spa, we returned to where the driver had parked and came back to the hotel—through the heavily secured front entrance this time.

Passing inspection from a set of very diligent guards who checked for explosives, the second reminder of the 2002 bombings (the first was the security evident at our Villa) , we made our way to the Chess Bar and Restaurant and enjoyed lunch at the beach, watching swimmers and other water sports enthusiasts, including parasailors and crazier folks who were harnessed to parachutes only to be launched into the sky and then kept airborne for a few harrowing minutes by fast-moving motorboats to which they had been tethered. Definitely not for the back-injured or faint-hearted.

Back at the villa later that night, we enjoyed an Indonesian dinner of delicately flavored Green Papaya soup, chicken and shrimp satay skewers with peanut sauce, and Nasi Goreng, a classic, traditgional savory and spicy rice dish with egg, chicken and vegetables prepared by a chef of the complex. (By the way, the detailed descriptions of tastes and foods are to satisfy the particular request of Valerie Berry, our London friend who is a chef, cookbook author and general foody).

Tomorrow, Saturday, we have planned a trip to Bali’s cultural and art center—Ubud. Stay tuned...and please, leave comments.

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K & A

Pura Desa Statuary, Bali

Pura Desa Statuary, Bali, originally uploaded by writerkbj.

an interior shrine in a neighborhood temple on the road from Denpasar to Ubud

Melbourne-Darwin-Bali

The day and a half “trek” to Bali was tiring but well worth the effort. After shipping our winter clothes home from the Carlton area post office on a boat that will take almost as long to get to California as the original ships took to arrive in Botany Bay some two centuries ago, we sensed the need to get on the road and left Melbourne on an earlier flight than originally planned, traveling back through Sydney and then on to Darwin, arriving after 1:00 AM.

We were delayed taking off waiting for mechanical repairs and got this great shot of the QANTAS fleet tails at sunset in Sydney. Sunsets are one of the most stunning natural features in this part of the Southern Hemisphere. Something about the angle of light makes the whole experience familiar yet disconcerting and in this moment of intense beauty what is magnified is a sense of wonder and disorientation at being 8000 miles from our California coast home. It’s a little like standing upside down in a garden of bougainvillea at dusk.

The nearly five hour flight from Sydney to Darwin courses north from the southeastern corner of this vast country. It was late when we cut across the interior outback and too dark to see the great desert whose craggy, austere landscape in the center and western parts of Australia artists such as Sidney Nolan and Aboriginal Artists such as Eubena Nampitjin have represented in their paintings.

We could see nothing until we neared Darwin and the captain alerted us to bush fires visible in the near distance. Below us fires dotted the landscape every fifty miles or so with amoeba-shaped outlines blazing vermillion and gold in the low bush and the next morning we read in the news that the dry season in this region was expected to bring more fire. Residents of Alice Springs and nearby areas were warned to clear perimeters around their homes to deter fires from spreading.

Darwin is the most northern territory in Australia. Known locally as the Top End it was named after Charles Darwin because of his expeditions in the region. For us, it was a disturbing bit of a blur. After a disappointing breakfast of poorly made coffee and the predictable imitation English Breakfast at the hotel (which followed a disappointing sleep) we ambled along the Esplanade that meanders above the bay of the port of Darwin leading into the Timor Sea and toward the city centre, discovering a few interesting sites, including this monument to American WWII service members killed defending Australia’s northernmost point from Japanese invasion. The current population of Darwin is an odd mix of student backpackers and other tourists—mostly white Australians from the southern regions, Asians, especially Japanese, some Europeans, and a few Americans—in search of a “genuine” Outback experience or, like us, about to use Darwin as a gateway to Asia, and Aboriginals. Near the center of Darwin, some Aboriginals had congregated in Tamarind Park making them seem at once more numerous and nearly invisible. Was it they or we who were ghosts wandering the streets, engulfed in a commercial blur?

The question became almost unbearably haunting; we retreated from it to lunch at an Irish Pub and then a nearby movie house and into the fantasy (or was this reality?) of the con game of Ocean’s Thirteen. Later, we walked toward Mindil Beach to catch its much-reputed sunset, along with hundreds of other tourists and locals, including Aboriginal artists and musicians there for the weekly Thursday night market at the beach. Finally, it was time to take a taxi to the airport. At midnight we left Australia behind with a promise to return and departed for Bali’s Denpasar airport.

The Queen’s Birthday

Monday, June 11, was a holiday in Australia, the Queen’s Birthday. We set out for a long walk in Melbourne to familiarize ourselves with the city’s layout and after some twenty minutes from our apartment ambling toward the city center we came upon a stately, definitely British-official looking building. Climbing its steps, we were surprised to find ourselves in the state library whose stacks and exhibitions were open despite the holiday.

As it turned out, one of the exhibitions that Kathy had hoped to see was still on—How I entered there I cannot truly say—and we wandered through displays of limited edition prints and handmade artists’ books, extraordinary collaborative works of visual and graphic artists and writers who had worked together in a special program, Edition + Artist Book Studio created at Australia National University in Canberra under the leadership of Diane Fogwell. Although the forms of books represented were less innovative than on display at some of the exhibitions at the Athenaeum in La Jolla, where Kathy once took a class, many of the works warranted extensive reflection. One in particular caught her attention—Jan Brown and Ian Templeman’s collaboration entitled Icarus/A Father Remembers (2004). With Ian Templeman's poem as the anchor, the work showcased Jan Brown’s etchings in a concertina book designed by Diane Fogwell that vividly and poignantly captured Icarus’s father Daedulus’s bittersweet memories of his son’s desire and ultimately fatal flight.
Upstairs, we wandered through another exhibition—Mirror of the World—Books and Ideas, which included materials from the rare books and special collections housed in the library, including sacred texts, geographies and cartographies, beautifully illustrated second editions of Audubon, and continued into modern Australia pulp fiction, the contemporary novels of Peter Carey, and digital books.

But the library itself was an exhibition. Standing several floors above the main reading room made us long for nothing more than a good research topic, a library card (which Kathy registered for and now can be welcomed back for year!), and a quiet seat in the corner. The magnificent lemon light washing down from the dome gave an ethereal quality to the place.

That afternoon, we lunched at Mekong, a famous, local Vietnamese Pho restaurant where Bill Clinton is reputed to have consumed two bowls, and we enjoyed a bowl of vermicelli delicately enhanced with the subtle and gentle flavors of fresh coriander, bean sprouts and perfectly crisped vegetarian spring rolls. We walked home and spent time preparing for our last lectures. That night, Amy joined her colleagues at Café Italia, across from our apartment, and finished the evening with a plate of rigatoni with beef ragout and a glass of Kangarillo Shiraz from Australia. We returned to the same place the next evening and enjoyed a dinner of the same dish for Amy (why not repeat a great thing?) and a “Three Bean Risotto” for Kathy, along with the same Shiraz.

Tomorrow is our last work day and then it’s off to Darwin, and then on to Bali!

To the Yarra Valley

On Sunday we had another free day and contacted Amy’s friend, Brigid, who had volunteered to drive us into the Yarra Valley, lush countryside surrounding Melbourne and home to wineries, forests and an animal sanctuary in Healesville nestled among the cool Yarra Ranges. We left the Clocktower Hotel around 1030 AM and set off in search of a good hike and some kangaroos! (Amy has been obsessing about kangaroos).

After an hour or so of driving, we arrived in Healesville and inquired about the best routes for hikes in the Rainforested area of the Yarra Ranges. The tourist information booth folks guided us a few miles out of town and we followed their routing into the national park driving toward the higher peaks. Unfortunately the road to the top was already closed for winter, given the (slight) possibility of snow so we parked the car and set off uphill on foot, surrounded by stately gum trees that provided canopied views into the valleys below. Oddly, we heard few birds until we had walked about two miles and then the sounds of twittering in branches above us began. One strange sound we were expecting (strange from a Californian’s point of view) is that of the “bell bird” whose call is the literal tinkling of a bell signaling its presence. We had heard it in the near outskirts of Melbourne, but found none in this forest.

Another mile or so took us onto the dirt path leading deeper into forest of fern and gum tree. Amy commented along the way how difficult it must have been to traverse this terrain thick with trees and assorted animal life.

After a couple of hours we descended back into Healesville, thinking we’d stop at the nature preserve/animal sanctuary. But the crowds and hefty entrance fees—and our own hunger for lunch—dissuaded us. Instead we made our way to the town center and stopped off at Beaz’ café, where we ate some veggies burgers and chips while two beautiful Gla birds—grey/pink parrot-like creatures—flew in to lunch on the seeds provided in the bird feeder adjacent to the porch where we sat.

On the way back to town we stopped at TarraWarra winery, known for its chardonnays and pinots. And lo and behold, there among the grape vines, now dormant in the Southern Hemisphere’s winter, we spotted a family of kangaroos nibbling on the grass in the hills above (only faintly evident in this photo). The winery boasts fantastic architecture and a contemporary art museum showcasing the recent works of Australian artists re-imagining still life in painting and sculpture.

Astonishing views through the museums windows onto the natural world surrounding us, re-sculpted into vineyards, provided an unexpected synergy between interior and exterior representations of “still life.”After sampling the lovely reserve Pinot Noir, the top-of-the-line at Tarra Warra, we took the road back to Melbourne and were rewarded with another pack of kangaroos sighted in a nearby estate—a family of eight grazing on the hills, but still too far for the capacity of our little Nikon to capture.

Another wonderful day! That evening, we feasted on another pizza and salad from one of the dozen Italian restaurants on Lygon street while Amy tried to decipher the intricacies of AFL—Australian rules football, originally specific to Melbourne, but now played more widely. A little like basketball crossed with soccer that goes on for hours—though not as interminably as cricket—it’s a demanding, energetic, and utterly Australian game, otherwise known as “footy”.

Monday, June 11, is a holiday here, which we will enjoy navigating Melbourne’s city centre on our own, leaving one more working day here before we pack and head to Darwin on Wednesday and then we are on to Bali to enjoy tropical weather and relaxation, beginning on Thursday.

From Sydney to Melbourne

Amy has been busy in Melbourne for the last several days, working on staff in a non-residential Experiential Workshop, Authority, Leadership, Innovation and Collaboration, directed by Professor Susan Long of the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT) University. The workshop provides participants with the opportunity to “explore group, inter-group and organizational dynamics” in the context of a “temporary learning organization,” which has neither set rules nor roles. In other words, hold onto you hats as you enter the vortex to discover things about groups and authority that you didn’t know you knew!

Meanwhile Kathy has been completing her lecture series in Sydney and enjoying being introduced to the city’s sights by Vras, whose knowledge of literature and history combined with a great sense of humor provides a uniquely delightful running commentary, while meandering from campus to bookstore to city centre. “Australia is a nation designed by Chekhov,” Vras says, “attentive to detail, sometimes missing the big picture.” The Museum of Contemporary Art’s exhibit of aboriginal art has gone traveling and instead we take a quick tour of its permanent exhibits and eat a fine lunch on the terrace near The Rocks, part of the historic district of Sydney.

Wednesday morning, Kathy awoke in time to see sunrise in Sydney and make her way for one last yoga session on Bondi Beach.

An ex-surfer saw Kathy snapping photos and offered to take this one to commemorate Kathy’s last downward dog experience by the surf.

Back to Sydney and ready for her Arendt seminar in the late afternoon (well-received) and then home early enough to pack, Kathy arranged an earlier flight and left for Melbourne around noon the next day. The rain delayed flights but was a much welcome event for Sydney, since all of Australia has been suffering from the biggest drought in the last 100 years.

After one lecture and the end of Amy’s experiential event, we have a day to enjoy the city and walk around Lygon Street, an area with a large concentration of Italian immigrants, one of several populations, including the Chinese, who made their way to this country in the early twentieth century and whose cuisine and aesthetics have shaped the cultural experiences characteristic of this part of the Antipodes. (Immigration continues to be a hot topic in contemporary Australia and the coming elections, some time later this year, will undoubtedly reflect ongoing debates about this and other topics not unlike those in the US.)

A long ride on the #112 tram (accidentally free for us, as we could not figure out the method of payment until after arriving at the destination) took us to St. Kilda’s, one of Melbourne’s historic resort areas and home to the hundreds of penguins and river rats who flock each night to burrow into the rock mounds near the end of the pier, now a nature preserve.

We watched the sun set from the deck of the restaurant near the pier’s end and then walked toward the preserve hoping to sight one of these creatures. A small boy pointed out for us the location of one of the penguins, an early arriver nestled in between a stack of rocks so deeply that we had to stare a long time before our eyes adjusted enough to catch a glimpse of a small patch of white fur. Only a few others waited with us on the wintry pier near the sea’s edge, all quiet in the calm of the night. And then a ripple in the water followed by a kind of purring/cooing sound signaled that the creatures were slowly making their way into their burrows. We watched for a little while until the rising wind and brisk, damp air drove us back into the city and after some take away Thai food for dinner and a little reading we were ready for bed.

Lectures at Sydney

Amy is now well immersed in her conference at Melbourne, so I write this report today on hehalf of us both, but with a focus still on my activities in Sydney.

Monday morning was spent figuring out Powerpoint and I report success in the endeavor to translate my presentation for the Sydney U Sociology seminar into an organized seminar paper on developments in feminist theory over the last twenty years. Not for the faint-hearted!

I wandered up George Street in the opposite direction to the one I usually take and there was the University on the hill only five minutes ahead. Crossing a green park, complete with pond and bridge, I approaced the main building where I was to meet my colleague Vras Karalis for lunch and a stroll around the adjacent area.

Back to Vras's office for a while with time to go over my notes and hope that the computer worked for the presentation. (It did!) I then went to the RC Mills Hall and met a group of about a dozen sociologists and other social scientists (including Catherine Waldby, Katriona Elder, Danielle Celermajer, David Marsh and others) most of whom began to break into wide smiles as I launched into the development of the new approach to theorizing gender and politics that Anna Jonasdottir and I have been working on for the last few years. Actually a combination of several strands of what has developed in the field over the last twenty years, we offer what we hope is a way forward, past endless and dead-ending debates and...well, not to bore you with that. Let's just say the seminar went very well, the group raised wonderful questions and I enjoyed a fabulous meal at a Thai restaurant in the New Town part of Syndey not far for the University.

Exhausted, I slept later than usual and will soon meet again with Vras for a trip to the Museum of Contemporary Art to learn something about the development of Australian art. Vras is a genuine Renaissance scholar with amazingly eclectic interests and the language skills to match--Greek, French, German, English....to name the most prominent--and an embracing humanity. And, he has an amazing sense of humor, actually of a very impish sort, if I may say.

Tonight it will be the Sydney Theatre's performance of The Art of War by Stephen Jeffreys and a dinner at the Wharf, with reports later, and then my Arendt seminar tomorrow. Thursday will be preparation for flight to Melbourne later that evening.

I will be sad to leave this wonderful city and great group of colleagues, but with every intention of returning and invitations to do so, the separation will only be temporary.

Bondi by the Sea

A reflexive and self-referential fact of traveling so far from home is the tendency one has upon arriving in a place for the first time to compare it to some place it reminds you of back home. Perhaps this is a natural tendency we all have to protect ourselves from the shock of the new; perhaps this is the mind’s way to mitigate the impact of the strange at the heart of the familiar. Or maybe it’s only one way to deal with the shock of finding things so recognizable in a land so far away from home, geographically speaking. But whatever the explanation, there we were in Manly finding echoes of Del Mar, and here we are in Bondi seeing shades of La Jolla Cove.

On Saturday late morning we wanted to adventure into the suburbs of Sydney and chose to bus to Bondi, for its magnificent coastal cliffs and powerful surf. We took two buses to get there, but the system here is so efficient that we alighted at North Bondi after only a forty minute ride. Along the way, we passed Oxford Street, the gay neighborhood of Sydney, replete with pride flags and assorted high end boutiques and bars. A little further along Oxford, we saw the old Sydney barracks and a few miles on, lo and behold, a Westfield Shopping Center loomed, complete with Borders and assorted stores of British and American vintage. Are the shopping conglomerates owned by Americans, or is Westfield of Australian origin, we wondered? Contradictions of capitalism, indeed..

At North Bondi we walked uphill to find what was once a military outpost now transformed into a golf course above the breakers, with extraordinary vistas across the vastness that is the Pacific. Following the road downhill and walking along the promenade, we passed the incredible surfing scene that make this area renowned and as we watched the waves curl in the glorious sun we wondered what winter really meant in Australia.

A little further on we came to one of the historic winter bathing sites along this extraordinary coast: The Iceberg Swimming Club, established in 1929 for winter swimming. A 75 meter pool abutted the ocean and as swimmers swam languidly, the waves crashed into the furthest lane. Kathy spied a sign advertising Yoga-by-the-Sea classes and determined to return on Sunday morning.

Back on the bus and home to the Mercure in time for Amy to catch a taxi to Sydney airport and fly to Melbourne in preparation for her meetings the next day.

Kathy then joined Dany Celermajer, one of her colleagues in political theory, at the wharf, where the 10th annual Sydney Writer’s Festival was being held. Attending one panel on the Ethics of Language wasn’t enough; Kathy stayed for another on memoir and was delighted to learn about two young Australian writers—Alice Pung and Kate Holden—who recently published memoirs on their very different Australian lives--Alice, from a family who emigrated to Australia from Cambodia, and Kate about her years as an addict and prostitute, and now a celebrated writer. Two more books for the growing list.

It was still early, so Kathy made her way to the Wharf Restaurant, hoping for a table; no luck. Instead she made a reservation for Tuesday, her free night, and also bought a ticket to the Sydney Theatre’s production of The Art of War. (Reports on that will follow later in the week).

Sunday dawned and Kathy again took the bus to Bondi, in time for the yoga class by the sea. No false advertising in this case: the class was held on a concrete platform adjacent to the Iceberg Pool overlooking the sea. Sunglasses were an important part of one’s equipment. And as the waves crashed over the railing, splashing the instructor (but not Kathy, positioned well to the back) the group moved into sun salutes, in this case, literally interpreted, and downward dogs and other assorted Hatha poses with the warmth of the sun loosening our muscles and joints. The only thing that broke the class’s concentration was someone’s sighting a school of dolphins swimming along with the "Icebergers", a group of intrepid cold-water swimmers who had ventured down the steps by side of the pool and into the strong surf.

Back to the hotel Kathy went, after a lunch at Bondi beach, to meet Vras, another Sydney University colleague. And then off to the Art Museum for an intended quiet chat. The quiet chat turned into a loud and hilarious conversation with some friends of Vras, including Diane, an American anthropologist of Kathy’s age, born in Brooklyn and transplanted to Australia many decades ago, now teaching at University of New South Wales, whose cousin just happened to go to the same high school as Kathy! Small world indeed!

On to Chinatown for dinner with Vras, and then back to the hotel to prepare for Kathy’s first lectures tomorrow at the University. Very much looking forward to more time with this generous, witty, and welcoming group of academics!

Moon Over Manly

No rest for the weary…Actually, we were not so weary when we awoke at 7AM for a yummy early breakfast at the hotel and then off for a jaunt through the Botanical Gardens en route to the New South Wales Art Museum.

We arrived early and waited for the museum along with about two dozen school children outfitted in forest green uniforms complete with caps for the boys and wide-brimmed bonnets for the girls. While their teachers prepared them for the visit we wandered around the grounds and conversed with the Sphinx.

Too many people seemed to heading in the same direction as we and so we spent the first half hour in the contemporary Australian artists’ exhibit. It took us three rooms to finally locate a woman artist. And then there were two…Eventually we made our way to the exhibition of original contemporary Aboriginal art. In many ways, the works we saw were, to our Western eyes, shockingly modern: abstract, brightly colorful, as much about form as content.

And, interestingly, many women have recently been in the vanguard of this art-making, which is as much about making a world through painting as representing that world. We picked up a book by Jennifer Loureide Biddle, an anthropologist from Macquarie University, to learn more about this fascinating art.

The museum was well-designed, with enough room to stand and look at the collections for a good while, but there were too many people there on this particular Friday and so we made our way out and into the surrounding botanical gardens.

Suddenly, we were stopped in our tracks by a strange concatenation of sounds coming from high in the trees above us and looked up to see thousands of fruit bats hanging upside down in the branches overhead. We watched them fighting and flying from tree to tree and stopped a ranger to find out more about them. Apparently, about 10,000 bats live in this garden and every evening they are joined by another 10,000 or so who live on north Sydney and together these 20,000 bats fly across the harbor for their evening haunts. What a sight that must be!

After a moment's rest on a nearby bench, we considered lunch, but decided instead on taking the boat to Manly again to search for the didgeridoo, one of the oldest musical instruments in the world, used by Aboriginal peoples for communication across the vast lands of the interior of Australia. Finding what we sought, as well as a painting by Julie Rose, an Aboriginal artist, we decided to lunch at a place near Manly beach and spent the rest of the evening sitting by the South Pacific, sipping a nice Australian cabernet while a magnificent moon rose on the horizon, filling the sky and lacing the ocean with glorious silver ribbons of light.

Another ferry ride back to Sydney returned us to the hotel for the night.

Tomorrow Amy flies to Melbourne and Kathy stays behind in Sydney for her lectures…and a possible Beethoven concert at the Opera House, if a ticket becomes available at the last minute.