North to Alaska

The Gadfly is on the move again. North to Alaska! Day 1 Friday 2nd August I am standing on the deck giving Rhodes and Hobson a final cuddle. They have known something is going on for a few days, I am sure of it. They have been more than usually attentive, with accusatory gazes.

Below, Wayne is tending to his chooks, encouraging them to pass through the covered walkway from their night quarters to their day-pen. They are the only chooks in town who live on a complete block of land with their own letter box. I wonder who writes to them. They would of course be getting regular rates notices from the Regional Council. The skinny wiry old chap who is rebuilding Wayne’s collapsing retaining wall is hard at work with his cement mixer, has been since 6.30. Dave is putting palms he cut down yesterday onto Wayne’s trailer, so his yard is cleaned up well and truly before the big house going up below him blocks his access. The big house is having its concrete slab poured at the moment, in front of huge cages of chicken wire stuffed with stones to retain the land and drain the water. (They will need that – I am one who knows.) Beyond all this activity stretch the acres of canefields, their feathery pink I-am-ready-to-harvest arrows shimmering in the morning light. And beyond them, the sea with the sun just up out of it.

And I am wondering, why am I going away from this. Where is anything better? Answer – I am going to see my son. Years ago, when he was offered work in Seattle and said “Will I take it, Mum?” I said “Oh Sydney or Seattle, only a bit longer plane ride from home”. I know now the plane ride is much longer….

Now I am at the station, waiting for the 10.35 tilt train to Brisbane. Some of Bundaberg’s best wait with me. There is a young dad, clothed in board shorts and t-shirt, both of which feature semi-naked, well-endowed women falling out of their very little clothing . He is accompanied by his little girl, about 5, and boy, about 8. Up the platform is a young mum, little one in stroller and toddler wandering dangerously close to the yellow line at the edge of the platform. She is dressed in a summer maxi tied behind her neck, the vast flesh of her back fully on show except for a purple bra stretched tight into the folds. As I watch, she pulls out a two-litre bottle of ccoca-cola and pours some down stroller’s throat, and then gives toddler a guzzle too. They will achieve her BMI in no time at all.

 On the train, I am seated next to a kindly, quiet gentleman. But we are forced into a conversation about how best to kill the phone of the woman in front of us. Its ring tone, set at top volume, is the opening bars of Dancing Queen. The Queen tries to begin dancing at least 27 times, and that is before Maryborough. An Abba fan, I can not tolerate this sacrilege. I get out my iShuffle. I will listen to David Hobson and Teddy Tahu Rhodes and block out the racket. The iShuffle will not play – low battery, it bleats at me. I was sure I had dotted every I and crossed every T, but the iShuffle is flat! Fail! And I am not even at Brisbane yet.

 Evening: a very pleasant meal with a dear friend in Brisbane, (we used to catch the train from Bundaberg to Brisbane together in boarding school days) and a good working over of the state of Australia. She has read “The stalking of Julia Gillard”. I have it on the Kindle for in-flight reading. She thought it was good reading, and it will deter her from voting for K. Rudd. She has not read Anne Summers’ “The mysogyny factor”, but I have that on the Kindle too. Neither of us took to Matthew Condon’s “Three Crooked Kings”, mainly because it is so poorly written. He manages to make a hot subject mind-numbingly boring, listing instead of writing. I did not even finish it. We also tut-tutted about the obesity epidemic in Bundaberg. It enjoys the dubious distinction of being Australia’s “best” in that regard.

Saturday August 3rd. Now at Sydney airport. An early rising, and an uneventful flight from Brisbane. Again seated beside a kindly quiet gentleman. And of course, no phones. Hallelujah. But something new. (It is a wee while since I have travelled). In flight entertainment is now delivered via one’s own iPad. Tucked in the seat in front of you. I did not use it, but there it was anyway. But before boarding in Brisbane, I saw this - a toddler, about 18 months, with one of those smallish plastic bottles of coca-cola, to which had been attached a teat, sucking furiously. I despair.

Now sitting quietly, through all the rungs and rings, charging up the iShuffle so I can calm myself on the long flight to SF with Rhodes and Hobson singing to me. Grateful to Sydney Airport Corp for free internet access and power. Though probably someone parking their car for $37 per hour is paying for it. Sophie will join me shortly from Melbourne, and we will be North to Alaska.