Well, I have been setting blogs aside, having other fish to fry : renovations of my old house in the centre of France - a never-ending, long-winded process - followed by ongoing summer preoccupations like aperitifs with friends, picking fruit in the orchard and making jam, growing courgettes, aubergines and herbs, mowing the bloody lawn, welcoming visitors and swimming in the river down the gorge. But, lately, images from those first weeks in Australia kept drifting into my mind, encounters were clamouring to be celebrated and remembered. So here goes...
It's a short (and blissfully cheap) flight from Bali to Darwin in the Northern Territory. So, there I was again at the end of September 2023, on the first sweltering signs of the wet season, clouds gathering and scudding away, humidity rising in this tropical palm-fringed coast.
Hence the title of this blog, if you ever heard of the Steven Spielberg film.
Arriving by plane gives another perspective, less ecological but more comfy than my fist contact with Alice in 2019, for a Soul motion dance workshop, dazed after 22 hours rattling on a bus from Darwin. No, I didn't get any richer since, quite the opposite but this time, I'm blessed to have a son-in-law who's a pilot and so brings staff travel benefits. This is a Godsend, and so is he. Business class, cooked breakfast, freshly pressed napkin and a seat that could fit two of me. My gratitude has no bounds and I wouldn't have minded if the flight had lasted the whole day.
But I run ahead of myself. Soooo, Darwin. Entering by way of the Northern territory feels like sneaking into Australia through the back door, so to speak.
This is still a wild land, the size of France and a half for a population of a quarter of a million people, most of them in Darwin, the rest in Alice or in one-horse-towns and cattle stations in the middle of nowhere and a string of villages, fruit and sugar cane plantations along the coast. Whether it could sustain a larger population is debatable.
Elinor welcomes me again in the suburb of Nightcliff. Her house is still filled with her paintings and mosaics and her beagles still sleep in the shade by the swimming-pool.
Darwin post-covid is pretty much the same as Darwin pre-Covid. There was one case recorded and with travel forbidden, nothing more could have happened there with the Timor sea ahead and the desert behind. Just confined by geography, lucky guys. Still, like everywhere else, prices have shot up and I have to watch the pennies.
No swimming on those loverly beaches if you're ever so slightly risk-averse.
But not everybody is, risk-averse that is, and there's a story.... In 1995, Val Plumwood, an environmental philosopher, was canoeing on a channel of the East Alligator river in Kakadu National Park, in the north-east of the Northern Territory. Now, who, in their right mind, would use such a flimsy skiff to paddle there, I wonder? Anyway, she lived to tell the tale after being snapped under and surviving no less than three 'rolls of death', a technique used by crocs to drown their prey. She just about lost her leg after an 11hour-trip to Darwin hospital, spent a month in intensive care and another month of skin grafts.
Kakadu national park. And one day, I will go...
To close the crocodile chapter, on my last day in Darwin, I relented and did the touristy thing by visiting Crocosaurus cove, where children -it's school holiday time- were staring, mouth agape at those beasts -who haven't evolved much since dinosaurs roamed the earth -swimming malevolently behind thick glass. There's Burt, who starred in Crocodile Dundee 1 - healthy respect on my part to the actors- and William who was caught stomping on Mindil beach, trying to catch little dogs for dinner. And no, Mindil Beach is not located in a far-flung suburb or out there in the boondocks, it's pretty central, lined with fancy hotels and close to the busy Sunset Market. A dog-walkers' encounter of the most sobering kind.
Dust Storm by Rachael Lionel
https://pauljohnstonegallery.com.au/aileen-napaljarri-long-solo-exhibition/
All encounters of the most inspiring kind!!
Now, for bits of national and local politics. One cannot be French and ignore politics for very long. It is in the genes.
Three local young ladies knock at Elinor's door one morning. They are canvassing for the referendum that had to be voted on October 14th 2023. An encounter of the most hopeful kind.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2023_Australian_Indigenous_Voice_referendum
It is quirky, clean, cheap, well-organised, has a garden strewn with tables, chairs, hammocks and ... a pool! ah but, BEWARE....
There congregates, on a long stay, the usual international bevy of youths on a working visa, seeking adventure and finding it. This young Scottish lady, tall, blond and willowy doesn't look as if she could tackle anything strenuous but tackle she does. She just spent 6 months on a station in the outback. She thought she could ride until she had to spend days mustering cattle on horseback, hat firmly planted on her head, face covered by a bandana against the flies. She now works nights behind the bar at the Todd tavern, where drunken fisticuffs are not uncommon. She's not fazed. An encounter of the bravest kind.
And then, there is Klaus who lives at the hostel. Small, wiry, sun-burnished and soft-spoken, he arrived in Australia from Germany in the 1960s, to offer his talents as a mechanic. Since then, he's cycled all over Australia... CYCLED!! and he still does... Now 75 years old, he's just returned from a small jolly to Cape York, all the way up there, a round trip of more than 6000 kms. That's why he likes to be in Alice, plumb in the centre : 'it retuces ze tistances'. Klaus is an unsung hero of the most humbling kind.
Imagine cycling on roads like this, for miles after miles after miles...
And then, there are those, like me, who're just passing through, for a few days, weeks.
I bump into Eileen. After 50 years in Australia, she still has a Scottish west coast accent. You'd never believe what this retired hospital orderly and grandma gets up to when she leaves Perth... She just walked the Larapinta trail, that starts west of Alice along the Mac Donnel Ranges. 'Not quite all of it' she says. Still... Even though it is only 223kms, this is a most isolated, rocky and rugged undertaking, compared to which the camino de Santiago is a walk in the park. Extreme weather, heavy rucksack, tent, water, food, water-purifying tablets, compressive bandages against snake bites and epirb for emergency. And she looks fresh as a daisy. I knew the Scots were tough cookies.
The tough cookie
But there is more to Eileen : she tells me she organises retreats in the desert : sweat lodges and vision quests... ah, if only I stayed longer... an encounter of the most determined and spiritual kind.
Stanley chasm
'For Aborigines, a good health is a question of sovereignty, of finding a way of life and foods that make strong and healthy people'... thus spoke one of the healers at a conference of both traditional and conventional practitioners that took place during the Desert Festival in Olive Pink Botanical garden. There sat also a Mexican healer who explained how traditional ways have been included in the Mexican healthcare system. Just then, as I stood in the balmy night, I realised I'd just finished to read 'Secrets of Aboriginal Healing', by Gary Holz, quite serendipitous...
Naumai used to work as a lecturer with her tribe in North island, New Zealand. 'There are no maori gathering without music' she winks at me, picking up her guitar. On my last afternoon in Alice, we sit in the garden and sing 'E hara i te mea'... and suddenly I'm miles away on a Pacific island, palm trees swaying in the breeze and soft waves lapping the beach. Naumai, an encounter of the most gentle and dedicated kind.
A word about Olive Pink Botanical garden. It's the only botanical garden of desert plants in Australia, where 600 different species are represented. Olive Pink - one can not invent a name like that - was an illustrator, botanist and an activist for aboriginal rights. She battled for 20 years with almost non-existent funding to create this garden, living in a tent and then a hut. She died in 1975, aged 91. A legend.
One day, I climb at dawn the hill in the garden to see the sun rise above the desert, gold and soft amber...
I'm told that if you see water in the Todd river, you'll come back to Alice. Well, I did and I'm back. I met people who came here for two months and still haven't left 30 years later. There's always work for a young, transient, international population. Though it has a reputation of violence and criminality - I have been advised not to walk alone at night - it's a hub of the most surprising kind, with a strong sense of community. The more I stay, the deeper I feel that here is a crucible for transformation, with a clean, pure energy, at the heart of Australia.
If I wanted another science-fiction analogy, I'd say the force is strong here...
It is in the Botanical garden that the aforementioned Desert Festival takes place every year. Desert divas are performing on its last evening and I discover Casii Williams who sings in a powerful, soulful voice a variety of her own songs and some covers. Fairy lights strewn in the trees dance in the night. An evening of the most magical kind.
Casii Williams is from Hermannsburg and this is where I'm heading off the next day. There are no galleries in Australia that do not exhibit creations of the Hermannsburg potters. In 2019, I had driven into the desert to visit them but, alas, they were in Tasmania... so, second time lucky! Same as last time, Christopher lends me Pegasus, his valiant roadster with snorkel and kangaroo bars and I'm off to the west. Good roads and only 120 kms.
Hermannsburg started as a Lutheran mission in 1877 - I visited the simple and austere buildings in the mission precinct years back - and it is rather an artistic hub. Albert Namatjira, the famous arrernte painter, was born there and is considered as one of the most notable Australian artists.
I have booked at the tourist office this time and I'm supposed to stay only 15 minutes there. It will be closer to 2 hours.
When I return into the women's workshop, I'm asked to introduce myself to the elders, as I'm coming from so far away. So, at least, I know how to greet them in their language. I tell them about my country, about my first attempt to visit them - they smile -and how they make Country alive through their craft. An encounter of the most moving kind.
https://hermannsburg.com.au/stories/hermannsburg-potters
Yes, 'Country', a proper noun, capitalised, is not just the land, it is, according to commonground.com.au, 'a term used by first nations peoples to refers to the lands, waters and skies to which they are connected through ancestral ties and family origins'. It also 'encompasses relationships, relationships with plants, relationships with animals and relationships with ancestors'.
And I guess it's a concept that Chris Barns, nicknamed Brolga, an Aborigine name for a long-legged bird (Chris is very tall) or Kangaroo Dundee (of course) understands very well.
He created a Kangaroo sanctuary a few kms away from Alice and, on my last day, I go on a sunset tour, not aware I was going to meet an Australian legend. Why a kangaroo sanctuary? Since dingos have been eradicated in cattle and sheep country, kangaroos have multiplied so much that professional hunters are sent to kill no less than 5 millions of them every year. There are 25 million people in Australia, double that for kangaroos...
All of us, 10 or so visitors, will pass around between us, a pouch where little Qantas huddles contentedly. A close encounter of the most heart-melting kind.
An alpha male can stand to a height of 1m 90. The standing position is one of aggresivity so a standing human can be mistaken for taking an aggressive stance. Chris Barns had to be stitched a few times because of that.
It's forbidden to own a pet kangaroo. The aim of the sanctuary is to release them into the wild.
Here is Roger, who died in 2018, a kangaroo Schwarzenegger, raised by Chris Barns
As the sun is setting, a flight of galahs scatters into the sky, frightened by a hovering eagle.
Good bye Northern Territory. I'll be back one day.....
