September 28, 2004 One of the highlights of my latter half of
September, spent in the drought-plagued hills of Australia's
semi-temperate rain forest, was a performance of the Spaghetti
Circus. Mullumbimby can count among its other notable
achievements its membership in that extremely select
group of towns and cities that hosts a circus troupe. The
Spaghetti Circus is made up chiefly of children, mainly
teenagers, from all over (including a few from Mullum itself),
offering them an opportunity to be taught discipline, hone
performing skills, and generally have a good time. During
its two decades of life the Spaghetti Circus has performed
in other parts of Australia, and has been recognized
on the national level for its good work.
The theme of this year's show being a Japanese one
("Zen & Now"), we found Japanoiserie awaiting us as we
entered the "big top" tent in which the show is held.
After queuing patiently to enter we rushed for the (unassigned)
seats as swiftly as we could, guided with perfect Nipponese
reticence by beautiful young local girls in heavy makeup and
gorgeous kimonos. The part of the show Rose & I liked best
was the performance by two young female trapeze artists;
the part we could have done without was an ongoing skit
involving a faux Japanese martial arts teacher
(who was no doubt funny) and his five hapless disciples
(talented male teenage acrobats, who tried unsuccessfully
to pass off adolescent slapstick as humor).
Overall, though, the finest part of the evening was the
spectacle of an earnest group of young people working hard
and enjoying themselves. Mullumbimby can be justly proud
of its Performing Pasta!
September 14, 2004 From Esalen I proceeded to Los Angeles
(after a stop at the Big Artichoke in Castroville for their
justly famous, if somewhat greasy, deep-fried artichoke hearts),
and thence to Australia, where Rose Baudin and her lovely corner
of rain forest awaited. Aside from the usual delights of that
region (including dolphins leaping in the surf at Brunswick Heads),
the big excitement of my first fortnight there was a trip with
Rose into the Outback, the Red Centre of the continent: Uluru,
otherwise known as Ayers Rock. In the middle of an endless, dry
(but paradoxically well-flora-ed), flat plain, three features,
all created from different types of rock, abruptly raise their
heads: Uluru, the Olgas, and Mt. O'Conner. Of these Uluru is
the most famous, and most dramatic; a pilgrimage site for the
Aboriginal peoples who revere it and visit it to hone their
connection to the Dreamtime (a concept that resists simple
conversion into declarative sentences).
Uluru is indeed surreal - many of the features that water
and wind carved into its red dome of stone over the eons have
been named by the Aboriginals, including a very large triangular
portal that they identified with a marsupial pouch. In other
places one's own imagination runs riot: giant lips and eyes and
portions of animal faces in the rock, swiftly shifting images
in the swirling juxtapositions of sun & shadow.
Uluru being grand, and its park campsite being overcrowded,
we drove off after two nights there for three nights at King's
Creek, just half an hour from another national park at King's
Canyon, where we had a more private campsite, permission to
build fires (especially pleasing given how near freezing it was
getting each night), and nearby fauna, wild and domesticated
(the best for us being the horse that wandered by one midnight
to stand nickering for the longest time outside our tent). King's
Canyon is quite dramatic as well: sand dunes from an ancient
ocean frozen into stone, and its own flora-filled Garden of Eden.
At nearby Kathleen Springs we saw the image that summed up
the trip for us: a little duck playing at flying back and
forth over the little pool of water, skipping over it with
its feet grazing the water like feathered stones.
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