Thursday dawned fine yet again and we were soon on the road with a long list of parks and forests to ”do” but with little expectation of achieving much. We headed once more west, through Melton visited only days ago, but this time registering the importance of this town as the centre of harness racing. We had seen a rather strange sculpture at the Visitors Centre; a horse with what looked like an old fashioned film reel. The whole structure seemed to turn and we both thought that it might be some kind of weather vane. How wrong we were! It is a celebration of the harnessing industry, and there are numerous stables about the town along with a smart new trotting course; new in so far as it has been constructed since Chris was last here.
Just seventeen kilometres west of Melton is the town of Bacchus Marsh; the name has almost a Shakespearean ring. Last weekend we were accosted at the Sustainable Living Festival on the banks of the Yarra River by a couple of women handing out pamphlets asking that people petition the government to stop the planned coal mining in the area. According to them, Bacchus Marsh was the fruit and vegetable bowl of Melbourne and must not be sacrificed to mining. We were sympathetic and with limited knowledge of the whole business, took a pamphlet and promised to find out more.
On Thursday as we approached the town, driving down into an extensive valley carved out by the Lerderderg and Werribee Rivers, a veritable patchwork of orchards and market gardens, we remembered those women and I was, at that moment, right behind them.
Immediately off the motorway, and onto a long Avenue of Memory, an avenue of beautiful trees planted as a memorial to those who have lost their lives in the past wars, one could see the extensive area of tilled and planted lettuce gardens. Workers, well robed against the burning sun and wearing Chinese coolie hats, were wending their way along the rows of vegetables, red and green and every shade in between. Further research on Google and quizzing the locals in the Information Centre provided the following information:
Tripod Farms is a company started in 1990 by three third generation farmers by the name of Ruffo, with just fifteen acres in Bacchus Marsh employing just fifteen staff. Today they have the land here and that they have bought up next door, along with land in Boisdale (well to the east of Melbourne), a total of 850 acres, employ, in one manner or another, 250 people and are the largest lettuce growers in Australia. According to the gentleman in the Centre, the Chinese workers are brought in daily by the busload. When I asked whether there was ill-feeling by the locals about the importing of labour, he assured me there was not. He himself did not fancy getting up before sunrise and working every daylight hour at ground level.
The same informer told us that the coal mining story was certainly true. There had been coal mining at Bacchus Marsh in the past; the old mine was now used as a rubbish tip. The coal seam stretches from Bacchus Marsh right south to Geelong and now with new technology, the poorer quality coal can be transformed into a more lucrative product. Development is inevitable. I guess it depends whether the Ruffo brothers have any political clout.
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| Walking up the Lerderberg river bed |
The Lerderderg State Park covers 20,180 hectares and the Gorge Road starts at the north eastern edge of Darley, now a suburb of Bacchus Marsh. The Lerderderg River has, over the millennium, cut a 300 metre deep gorge through sandstone and slate, something that is only evident by the shape of the land. This week the river was dry but for intermittent pools of water, still waiting for rain. We parked at the end of the road, at Mackenzie’s Flat Picnic Area and took the hour long walk up to Graham’s Dam and back. The track follows the river course through scrub and gums and seems so far from civilisation, that only the kookaburras and cockatoos can be heard. Unlike the muddy uninviting pool at MacKenzie’s Flat, Graham’s Dam is a deep clear pool that does invite the idea of a swim. Chris said it was not hot enough despite the over thirty degree temperature. I felt it was a little early in the day.
Actually I have lost my appetite for swimming, not that I was ever that keen to plunge into cold water for fun. Last year there was an outrageously un-politically correct television programme called “A Can of Worms”. One night the question came up about people urinating in public pools. Appallingly, more than half the people polled confessed that they had indeed done so and might well do so again. For me that was too much information, as it is no doubt for you right here, and it was the end of my desire to swim in public pools. However, in fairness, Graham’s Dam hardly qualifies as such.
We returned to Bacchus Marsh and lunched at a reserve near the aforementioned lettuce gardens. There is a walking and cycling path back to the centre of the town along the Lerderderg River from this spot which looked inviting, but there are only so many hours in one’s day.
From here I could see what appeared to be a lookout on the hill across the motorway, a place I wanted to be, and so we found our way to this point which turned out to be an adventure all on its own. This is not a “lookout”; it is the Ta Pinu Marian Centre with large gates suggesting a private property and one of great significance to the religious. Being faithless, but respectful, we hesitated before deciding to trespass anyway, and drove up around a collection of shrines to a tall large cross on the rocky outcrops overlooking Bacchus Marsh. The Stations of the Cross beautifully depicted in ornate plaster statues around the hill, a Shrine in honour of Our Lady – Ta Pinu, and a replica of the original chapel at Te Pinu Basilica on the island of Gozo, off Malta; all lay below us looking so out of place here in Australia. Construction was commenced in 2002 and by 2011, eight individual shrines had been built, by Catholics of Italian, Philippino, Slovenian, Portuguese, Spanish and Indian origin, to name a few. The place is covered in biblical texts and invitations to those of all faiths; we enjoyed the views, marvelled at the waste of money and left without offending anyone, apart from those who may be offended by this paragraph.
We drove about fifty kilometres south along the eastern side of the Brisbane Ranges, those we had seen from the west when we travelled from Geelong to Ballarat several weeks ago. We intended to do the Aniekie Gorge Walk, or at least part of this six kilometre return walk we had selected from the Park Notes.
The Brisbane Ranges National Park covers 7,718 hectares and had been beckoning us for some time. We put our walking boots back on, took a swig from our water bottle, and set off, only to find after a few hundred metres that the walk was closed due to recent storm damage. And so that was that.
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| Steiglitz's Courthouse |
A further fifteen or so kilometres south and west across the lower section of the ranges brought us to Steiglitz, an almost ghost town, once bustling in the gold rush days of the 1850s and on. Apart from the few old dwellings about, still occupied, the beautifully restored courthouse is all that remains of the grander days. The town is set on a hillside amongst an open gum forest and is very pretty. Apparently even while the ground was being churned up for gold, it managed to retain a charm. We drove slowly about reading the interpretative signs and left, counting our visit to Steiglitz has having “done” the Brisbane Ranges.
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| The Bunjil Geoglyph |
We returned across the plains, apparently the third largest basalt plain in the world, through the pale gold grasslands, detouring to the shopping centre at Melton South. Here we stocked up on basic provisions and noted that our fellow shoppers did not seem to be enjoying the prosperity of Melbourne and would probably describe themselves as ‘battlers”.
The fine weather continued into the next day. We had exhausted our list of day trips, having squashed so much into the previous day, so we purchased another couple of week-long Metlink tickets at the Sunshine railway station and rode into the city once more on the rail.
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| Cook's cottage |
We walked along Flinders Street in the bright sunshine, into the Treasury Gardens and then through to the lovely Fitzroy Gardens where Cook’s Cottage can be found. This is the real authentic cottage in which the parents of Captain James Cook lived, relocated all the way from Yorkshire, England. It has been lovingly restored and surrounded in vegetable and flower gardens of the time, and is manned by two council staff; one at the gate to take your money and the other in the information and tourist shop, both wearing costumes of the time and both relatively new Chinese Australians. We were glad we made the effort because apart from delighting in this heritage treasure, we found ourselves engaged in an interesting conversation with a Chinese tourist and we purchased a copy of the most excellent DVD we had viewed about Cook up in that marvellous museum in Cooktown in the north of Queensland late last August.
The tourist spoke very good English and just as well, because he told us he was an English teacher in his city in the north east of China. His tour had also taken him across to New Zealand, a beautiful country he told us. How long had he stayed there? “Just three days.” We spoke of many things, but one of his major concerns was the three Chinese people at the gate of the park exercising, advertising the fact they were members of Falun Gong. He was embarrassed about the overt exhibition of their faith or practice, that this caused a great loss of face for other “good” Chinese. We assured him that this was not so, that we understood that these people were simply practising and publicising their own personal faith and that we did not see them as indicative of all Chinese. We also knew that they and their practices were frowned upon by the authorities in China although we were not sure why because it seemed to simply be a faith issue rather than a politically motivated matter. He was pleased to learn that we understood it so, and left far happier than he had been after entering the park. Hopefully he would pass that on to other Chinese tourists and there would be no further loss of face. Since then, I have googled Falun Gong, and have had no cause to change my opinion. Other than having a need to fix their own personal moral living codes to an order, they seem to aspire to the very best virtues of mankind.
We walked on through the lovely gardens and across to the MCG aka the Melbourne Cricket Grounds, Holy of Holy’s. This had been on Chris’s must-do-no-matter-what list and I suspected it was one of those attractions that would prove to be pleasantly satisfying for me also.
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| Chris enjoying his tour of the MCG |
The MCG is home to the Melbourne Cricket Club, is the tenth largest stadium in the world, the largest cricket stadium in the world, hosts Aussie Rules games apart from cricket, has hosted Billy Graham Evangelist rallies, papal visits, concerts by the likes of Madonna and the Three Tenors, and was the centre-piece for the 1956 Olympic Games and the 2006 Commonwealth Games, to name but a few of its famous attributes.
Our tour guide for the day was an elderly member of the Club who holds the MCG in reverence as much as anyone can, and took us from the stands to the pitch, from the changing rooms to the members stands, the bars and restaurants to the staff canteen, pointing out improvements and alterations, decorations, quirks, the history from 1838 to date and gave answers to the hundred questions put by yours truly, her husband, four Pommie tourists and two Americans. It turned out that one of the Americans, a tall athletic black, was in fact a West Indian who had learned cricket soon after learning to walk, and was therefore more qualified in the ins and outs of the cricket game than any of us, apart from our esteemed guide. I was disappointed when our hour and a quarter tour came to an end, however we had paid for a combination of tour and museum, so there was more to come.
The National Sport Museum, located in the bowels of the MCG, is home to Australia’s finest collection of sporting heritage. Sport and I are not natural companions, however even I was not able to absorb and enjoy as much of this museum in the couple of hours left to us. It really is excellent, covers every aspect of sport, obviously celebrating Australians, has interactive displays where one can try one’s hand at archery, goal shooting, or the like. There is a very large section covering the history of AFL (Australian Football) which is especially a favourite with Melbournians. There are films of great moments in many different sports, and stories of development such as that about the skeleton racing contribution to the Olympics by Australians, a holographic presentation by Shane Warne, and so much more. If you are even slightly interested in sport, this museum will not disappoint. Our only complaint to the staff was that the pass should cover two days of admission because there was simply too much to absorb in one visit.
We walked back over the rail yards and along the river, the temperatures still at 35 degrees and unrelenting, and caught a later train than usual, meaning that our drive from Sunshine back to Rockbank was slow in clogged rush hour traffic.
Yesterday we lingered over breakfast, watching the further unfolding of the political drama between Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard, astounded at the character assassination that continues unabated. A marriage cannot survive such vitriol; how can a political caucus?
Finally we tore ourselves away and caught the train from Sunshine to the city, then the tram up to Lygon Street, the Italian heart of the city. The cafes were full of patrons, the patisseries were full of colourful macaroons and every other delicacy one could imagine. Lygon Street is wide, lined with lovely trees and devoid of tram lines which adds a quiet charm to this part of the city where so much of the air space is tangled with tramlines. It reminded me of Paris and Nice. Late in the morning, it was a kind of torture to wander past these wonderful places, the smell of coffee wafting out, the menus promising gastronomical delights. We continued on down past Argyle Square now called the Piazza Italia, hoping to find some sort of weekend gathering to entertain us. There was none, however we found a shady quiet niche to eat our lunch, far earlier than we should.
We caught the tram that took us down through the centre of the city, down St Kilda Road, turning down Fitzroy Street past Chris and Olga’s old hotel, along the Esplanade and Carlisle Street, then up Chapel Street. We alighted when we came to the business part and walked up the street which became steadily more crowded, busy with people, now in the middle of Prahran. The grunge of the lower shops staffed by tattooed assistants, housed in buildings in disrepair gave way to the smart shopping area of Chris’ memory. The shoppers changed in line with the upmarket shops and by the time we reached Toorak Road, I was feeling somewhat grungy myself.
We walked a little way along Toorak Street, then caught the tram for some distance through the lovely streets, lined with trees and the smart houses of the affluent, until we finally reached Malvern, and remained on the tram as it returned on the same line, right through to Flinders Street station. On board we found ourselves engaged in conversation with several people including a fair middle aged Australian wearing white knickerbockers and a portly belly who told us two jokes without invitation before disembarking. With a population of four and a half million, there are bound to be some strange characters.
We checked out Federation Square for any activity, but there were only people on the deck chairs facing an empty stage, so we took the train back to Sunshine. There, as in the morning, there was a great line of busses for transporting passengers travelling beyond Sunshine toward Sydenham. The line is currently shut for electrical work; however this does not affect us.
On the way home, we detoured into Caroline Springs, the suburb that has sprung up between Deer Park and the countryside in Chris’s absence. In fact development of this well planned town only began in 1999 and it has all the hallmarks of a complete artificial modern town. We drove around and decided we really liked it, despite it being so new and shiny.
The weather report for today was for late showers which was hard to believe for most of the day light hours. It was only in the late afternoon long after we arrived back at camp that the clouds rolled over suggesting that the rain promised for tomorrow might actually eventuate. Soon after dark, the rain began and now as I write this, thunder rolls around and the wind and rain threatens to flatten the caravan.
It was because of the morning winds that we drove through to Braybrook, still on the road to Melbourne but closer in than Sunshine, in search of the nearest BCF Store. There we found what we were looking for; another set of flapper straps for the awning to supplement the four we already have attached. Alas, Chris did not get an opportunity to attach these latest ones before the storm set in.
There is a big new hardware chain here in Australia, Masters, American and part of the Woolworths group. We have noted its existence here and there, more often than not, close to Bunnings, their greatest competitor. We were keen to investigate for ourselves, and so this morning had that very opportunity.
There is a great similarity to Bunnings, with the staff in blue aprons instead of their competitors red and green, there at the door to greet and advise, and then act as security when you leave, and about in all the aisles ready to assist. The displays are slightly more upmarket than those in Bunnings, but still retaining a warehouse feel, which is where they differ from the Mitre 10s and the like. Chris, as a retired tradesman, declared that he preferred Bunnings over Masters, however in fairness, this decision was arrived at after a visit to only one of Masters’ stores.
We drove on to Footscray, a suburb revisited on our first arrival, but this time entering the business centre. We wondered whether we had arrived in Hanoi; the store names are nearly all Vietnamese. This was a surprise to both of us, but further research again tells us that since the 1980s Footscray has been the major resettlement place for Vietnamese refugees and migrants. (I did feel quite tall waiting at the railway station.) We left the vehicle here in the station car park and hoped that we would remember that it was here, not in Sunshine, as has been our habit.
After arriving in the city once more, we caught the tram up Swanston Street, walking through to Lygon Street, where we had been yesterday. The Piazza Italia was as quiet as yesterday despite our hopes that there may have been some community event going on. We lunched in the same place as yesterday and then wandered on up through this Italian restaurant precinct. Having eaten already, we were able to decline the many invitations by maitre d’s into their restaurants. A crowd up a side street caught our attention and soon we found ourselves enjoying part of the programme of Carnevale in Carlton at the Museo Italiano and La Mama forecourt. We sat and listened to Elaine of the Trio Bem Brasil for half an hour, enjoying their rendition of several sambas and songs from various parts of Brazil.
We walked across a couple of blocks to Nicholson Street, where we caught the tram through to the end of the route to Brunswick. Sunday in that part of Brunswick, if we were correct in our understanding of place, is deadly quiet, so after a quick glance about, we hopped back on the tram and came back down to the Museum precinct. There we dismissed the plan to visit the museum, it being too late in the day, and so walked across to Brunswick Street and Gertrude Street where we found The Labels in fashion such as Nom B. This whole area is riddled with graffiti but has wonderful little restaurants and boutiques tucked amongst all the less salubrious aspects of the suburb. This is Fitzroy, and was just buzzing with people, mainly young, vibrant, trendy and happy to spend money. Here the restaurants had a Greek or Turkish flavour interspersed with Chinese. A rather down at heel tramp looking guy handed us a leaflet for the Rose Street Market. Despite his appearance, he was an excellent advocate and so we soon found ourselves at this market. Here we found an array of wonderful crafts and art, much of it using recycled products which fascinated me. Amongst these were small pieces of imperial measure wooden rulers attached to key rings and diaries or notebooks with covers made from old Golden Books (remember them?)
We continued on through the heavily graffittied lane back to Nicholson Street, caught a tram down to the city, walked back through to the Flinders Street station, and back home, remembering to alight at the Footscray Station to collect the landcruiser.
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