Halloween, A Holiday in Tasmania and a Tetun Dictionary

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All Hallows Eve was spent with the delightful Severina242, where I tested my skills with Polish cuisine. The feast was complimented with a lovely drink called Krupnik. It's the vodka version of mulled wine. It's dangerous, because it doesn't taste like vodka anymore, although the fumes can be pretty overwhelming. I can't wait to introduce Brendan to this one.

The following morning caseopaya and I were aboard the Spirit of Tasmania, for a brief (six day) holiday through an island of extraordinary beauty (unusual fauna, alpine rainforest) and history (aboriginal, convicts, mining, hydroelectrics). The combination of the two makes it no wonder that this is where the Greens are so strong.

Description of the journey is quite long, so they'll appear as comments...

A draft of the Cliff Morris' Tetun-English dictionary which I've transcribed is now available online. This is currently the single largest collection of Tetun words available online. It also has an excellent essay by Cliff Morris on the history and culture of East Timor. I hope my introduction can do it all justice.

I'm concerned that I'm losing my interest in music, or at the very least, live music. People like reddragdiva will affirm that I've been a bit of an afficiando for many years, with a wide-ranging (and possibly lenient) tastes. Recently Neil Young, The Human League, Lou Reed, Echo and the Bunnymen, Public Enemy, Carl Cox, The Killing Joke and even David Bowie have or about to visit Melbourne. My disinterest of their presence is disconcerting.

Fiction writers never get this strange. Did Mossad know about 9-11? Is that just too weird?

A Melbourne dining recommendation. Recently dined with severina242 at the Tandoori Times on Gertrude Street, Fitzroy. An excellent Indian restaurant with dishes to please all taste buds. If you are like me however and occassionally like a curry that makes you sweat all over, go flush red and enter a psychedlic fugue state where your ears ring, your vision is blurred and you suffer ekstasis, then this place has a lamb curry to go for. First timers will be given a rating of 1 to 10 in terms of spicieness. I found the 10 to be a modest introduction of what else is available. No, I didn't reach anywhere near my desired state - but apparently it is available as high as 25.

Yesterday went to see the entrants for the Archibald Prize with severina242, the annual award for the best Australian potrait piece of Australians "distinguished in Art, Letters, Science or Politics" that has been running for 80 years. The judges gave it to Geoffrey Dyer's potrait of Tasmanian author Richard Flanagan. With a fiery orange background, the bald Flanagan in a tight black t-shirt and jeans and bold blue eyes was certainly impressive - even threatening. For the "People's Choice" I voted for Ian Smith's "Ray Hughes having predinner drinks with Ambriose Vollad and Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler". It was in a cubist style, but with spatial-temporal distortions that are best described as "drunken".

I do like fine art ;-)

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After exiting the devastation of Queenstown we journeyed past the beautiful (and rather large) lake Burbury and into the world heritage listed Cradle Mountain National Park and Franklin Gordon National Park. These, along with the adjoining South West Conservation Area and Walls of Jerusalem National Park, make up some 25 percent of Tasmania and if the thylacine is too be found anywhere this is most likely place. The mountains and hills are steep, the undergrowth is near impossible to traverse (aptly helped by a certain tree, the Anodoptelaum biglandulosum, which grows on a horizontal with its branches on the vertical) and trees grow up to 100 metres (yes, you read that right). Plenty of wildlife, including the Bennett's and Rufous wallabies and the Black Currowong, were sighted. A visit to Nelson's Falls is also highly recommended and is only a ten minute walk from the main road.

Just to emphasize the point, this is a place of true wilderness. There is no evidence of human habitation, with the exception of (a) the Lyell Highway, which forms the border between the two parks; (b) a minor road to a tiny fishing township of Strathgordon (pop under 30) between Lake Gordon and Lake Pedder; one unsealed track to some boat ramps on the south of Lake Pedder; and the "town" of Melaleuca (pop under ten, accessible only by plane or five days walk through the National Park).

This area brings up memories of some of my first political involvement. At the start of the 1980s there was a plan to dam the Franklin River for hydroelectricity which led to an international campaign to protect the region. In 1981 the Tasmanian government held a referendum for the public to choose between two different dam schemes. Despite being told that it would render their vote informal, some 46% wrote "No Dams" on their ballot paper. The state went into crisis. Both the Premier and the leader of the opposition were sacked, the government fell, and the when new government also supported the dam scheme and started construction, a blockade began. After two years of the blockade, 1400 arrests, and a change in the national government following a major national and international campaign, World Heritage Listing for the region was implemented.

After the National Parks, it was getting late. Quite late, and without much sign of human habitation in sight. We journeyed to Tarahleah arriving at around 8.30pm, passing two impressive hydroelectric power stations on the way. Tarahleah was established when the stations were being built and then was sold off by the HEC. With some fifteen houses, a primary school, a chalet and a town hall, the entire thing was snapped up by a single family, who have turned it to a somewhat successful tourist resort. With a permanent population of 12, Taraleah is quite beautiful, with sweeping views of surrounding alpine forest.

The following morning it was into Hobart. Nestled under the impressive Mount Wellington (1270m) and on the equally impressive River Derwent, this is the second oldest European settlement in Australia (1803; the English were concerned that the French were going to turn up). We stayed The Globe on Davey Street, a charming and central, if somewhat dilapidated deco hotel. The afternoon consisted of walks through some of the local parks (St David's, Franklin Sq), through the very proper and English suburb of Battery Point, along the hipster region of Salamanca Place, a late lunch on the wharf (finally, some Tasmanian fish and wine!), viewing some historic buildings, and finally the very impressive Tasmanian Art Gallery and Museaum. The later has some exceptional displays of natural fauna, a pretty good dinosaur skeleton, a diarama of prehistoric megafauna (including carnivorous and giant kangaroos!), highly detailed convict and aboriginal history, and, (with my memory jolted, as I have seen it before), the original of Borguereau's "Les Ravisement de Psyche", which is one my favourite paintings. But riddle me this Batman, all the posters (including mine) have Psyche on the right side of Eros with her head nestled against his shoulder. In this version she is on his left side with her head thrown back.

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Never a pair to waste time, that evening we were on the road again to Port Arthur for their "ghost tour" of this thoroughly disturbed convict village and now state park, some 100 kms from Hobart. Port Arthur was supposed to be both high security (it was almost impossible to get out of, being on peninsula with two isthmus') and reformist. The reform was a rather extreme version of Jeremy Benthem's progressive ideas of the panoptican and quiet reflection instead of physical punishment. In sections of the prison, the convicts were totally forbidden of all speech and were often placed in a solitary confinement of extreme sensory deprivation. Needless to say, soon after building the so-called model prison, an asylum had to be built next door. As a location for a ghost tour, it was quite good. There were numerous histories of suicide pacts, graverobbing, convict dissections, fire and brimstone priests and even murders in an unconsecrated church.

The following morning we left Hobart and headed along the east coast to the seaside town of Swansea, passing through numerous places that didn't know how to make proper coffee. These included Sorrell (last stop for ATM banking) and Orford. As numerous as wildlife was here, roadkill started to outnumber it. Nevertheless, we were fortunate enough to spot and stop for a close up chat with an echidna.

At Swansea we dropped in for lunch with Peter Boyce, the former Vice-Chancellor of Murdoch University and now at Tasmania University. Peter and I formed a friendship at Murdoch University whilst he was VC and I was the Vice-President of the Student Guild. Despite our obviously different organizational objectives and political backgrounds we both found each other prepared to engage in polite negotiation rather than open warfare on university matters. I've managed to see him at least once every couple of years since then. An interesting matter of conversation was Peter's express interest to do some lecturing at one of Palestinian universities. I can see a future in this.

Following Swansea we travelled north along the coast past some rather impressive beaches, which looked quite enticing given the unusually warm weather. However we turned west at the rather richly named township "Chain of Lagoons" and headed towards what is called the "Elephant Pass", a high winding road through a short range. In the middle of this there is a pancake and Tasmanian berry restaurant which we took advantage of, which lays the elephant theme a little thick but with a degree of taste. The place also knew how to do a reasonable coffee (about time, too). From there it was on to Fingall, impressive for its mountains of black coal, some two hours of farmland, through Perth (pop 1100), which as West Australian ex-patriates caused us no end of mirth and that evening into Launceston. After some difficulties finding accomadation we found ourselves at The Maldon, a stately Victorian terrace which is owned by and makes use of the facilities of the surprisingly tastely and posh Launceston International Hotel.

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That evening we dined at Me Wah, a renowned Chinese (Catonese to be precise) restaurant in a town that has more than its fair share. Me Wah won the "Best Asian Restaurant in Tasmania" award two recent years in succession and to say the least the food and service is superb and quite inexpensive. The following morning, after checkout and return of the hire car we spent the rest of the day travelling through the town. Launceston is very much like Melbourne (indeed Melbourne was planned in Launceston), minus all the bad bits. Fairly small (population 67,0000), it has an array of Victorian and deco buildings, is nestled in the fork of two major rivers and includes lots of rich open parkland. City Park is particularly notable for its Japanese Macaque enclosure (which are extremely playful monkeys) and a community radio station that also houses a radio museaum. A very brief walk from City Park takes one to the Civic Square which has the regional library, town hall and the historic Macquarie house. Further west, and a very short distance from the city centre, one finds onself at the breathtaking South Esk River and Cataract Gorge, a place of superb natural beauty with an excellent walk leading to secluded gardens where peacocks mingle among the serving of Devonshire teas as the world's longest span chairlift passes overhead.

But as time goes on, so must this brief holiday come to an end. In early evening, after enjoying a fine glass of Tasmanian red wine and Tasmanian brie and fetta and what is probably Launceston's only French cafe, it was too the airport and back to Melbourne. Quite a reasonable escape from another sporting event. And I still don't know who one "the Cup", either.