This Balanda had a great night

The tourists have left, the streets are emptier and the Danish cyclists are no longer taking their lives into their hands on the roads. Yes, the Dry is almost over and as the humidity starts to slowly build up, Darwin is saying goodbye to the cool weather with the Darwin Festival: 14 days of music, theatre, art and food in the Botanic Gardens.

Last night was the NT Indigenous Music Awards at the amphitheatre. After a day spent recovering from the extraordinary amount of alcohol I consumed the night before (I drank 4 beers and 1½ bottles of wine, talk about a walking advertisement for the dangers of binge drinking), I was just well enough to make myself down to the Gardens (photos below).

The Awards were a load of fun, although not particularly well organised (my favourite moment was when they asked one of the bands to come back on stage and found they’d already left). The highlight of the evening was the Chooky Dancers, sporting a bit more co-ordination than in the past. If you haven’t seen their YouTube vid yet, check it out. These guys are talented and irrepressible. They naturally performed Zorba the Greek and it was just as entertaining as expected.

The hero of the evening was without doubt Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu from North-east Arnhem Land who won four major awards, including act of the year and album of the year. In case you've never head of him, Gurrumul sings in Yolgnu and has been blind from birth. I own his solo album and it is beautiful.

The band B2M from the Tiwi Islands was named the emerging act of the year and are probably hoping that Boys2Men never hear about them.

Overall, a great night.

Life is like a gift they say, wrapped up for you everyday

Yes, it has been a month of somewhat ordinary miracles as the reality of my hectic schedule for the next 6 months starts to really sink in. Uni has started back again and I have to do a remarkably boring managerial course for work, although this has meant three trips to Brisbane in the next few months. Yay for work-related travel.

I have, however, managed a few touristy things: a few trips to Mindel, dinner at Pee Wee's (by far the best restaurant in Darwin and something you have to book about a month in advance this time of year) and a day trip to Mandorah.

Mandorah is a small community just across the Harbour from Darwin City and, according to my guide book, is a good place to go for lunch by the sea. It wasn't the most exciting outing but the boat ride was nice, even if I still couldn't find the promised fairy.

I fear my blogging will be somewhat sporadic over the next few months as I once again knuckle down to three subjects. Please read through the arhive and feel free to comment.

99 red balloons

If there's one thing Territorians know how to do, it is party. And that's party with a capital F for firecracker. It's firecracker night in Darwin, otherwise known as Territory Day, and even now the dogs of war are being released over my head.

The view from my balcony down over the bay is pretty good at any time, but spectacular with hundreds of fireworks being released all over the city.

Earlier, I went down to Fanny Bay to join the multitudes in setting off fireworks on the beach with some friends. We had a prime position near Mindel and the Casino and the view was amazing.

I had been finding it difficult to motivate myself to join in (drunken Territorians trying to blow off bits of themselves didn't seem like a good time, at least in theory) but changed my mind at sunset when my neighbourhood simply went off. No time to be at home.

Now the city is covered by a thick pall of smoke, fire engines are racing everywhere, there are distant sounds of people cheering and...I think...yes, one of my neighbours has possibly just set fire to that tree. Time to hose the balcony down.

Darwinians certainly don't do anything by halves.

I'll take 31 degrees over 13 anyday

As they say, "time flies when you're...unbelievably busy". It's nearly July and with July comes my new job; or rather an old job, as I go back to my substantive position in Canberra. I will be working remotely, which means I had to visit Central Office last week to re-connect with my team and be briefed on my new project.

I actually had a great time visiting Canberra; in many ways everything is so unchanged that I feel as though I never left. I was reminded of the stark winter beauty of frozen deciduous trees; ate, drank and made merry with old friends; and generally froze my arse off dear Lord was it COLD.

I swear I'm about 5 kilos heavier and no longer possess a functioning liver. Yeah, I guess then it was a fantastic trip.

Pizza: It's a Thing

In my family, as in most, we have institutions.

Not many people's institutions are pizza, science fiction and red wine (I don't mention Bundy rum 'cause, as unAustralian as it makes me, I just could never like it) but institutions are always individual ((or maybe independently communal (communally independent?).)

Despite the fact my family are far away, tonight I made myself pizza (gluten-free dough, gluten-free salami, no yeast, little cheese - is that still pizza?) and thought of home. Now I just have to pour myself a glass of red wine and find an episode of Star Trek...miss you everyone. Hope you had a good long weekend.

What's in the grass?

The Dry is here.

The dragonflies are gone, the mornings are cold (19 degrees this morning) and the humidity is gone. The annual burnoff has started. The faint smell of smoke is almost permanently in the air and a miasmic haze blurs the horizon.

With the Dry comes Mindel Markets, sunsets, tourists in vans heading south and a raft of outdoor activities. The Deckchair Cinema is once again operating and, last weekend, the Bass in the Grass music festival attracted 3/4 of Darwin.

After a beautiful lunch at my mate Deb's place at Cullen Bay, we walked over to the festival with our daggy hats and drank, sang, danced and generally felt...really really bloody old.

The Audreys were great in the afternoon, Gyroscope was quite forgettable, the Hilltop Hoods went off and, despite my dislike of hip hop, I am now a fan (go figure). Wolfmother were bleeding awful and Powderfinger still remains my favourite band in the whole world. They're like an old friend you haven't seen in years but you can still sit down and talk to for hours.

The turnout shows just how much Darwin is crying out for quality entertainment. Anyway, had a great time, even if I did have to be at Uni at 10am the next day. Oh, the pain!

Le Chalet Bear

To celebrate Little Red Dave's brand new home at LittleRedDave.blogspot.com, here's another piccie from the Dave files. This was taken at the end of 2000 in France on a fantastic skiing trip to Val'disere (hopefully someone will correct my spelling soon).

Dave was mostly a Chalet bear on this trip. While I hit the slopes, he stayed inside and drank lots of hot chocolate.

For me, this trip is most memorable for my brutal ski instructor who, despite being totally terrifying, taught me how to parallel ski in only one week.

Reflect

During my rather rambling Australia Day post, I jokingly noted that the nature of our nationhood was best discussed on ANZAC Day.

And although this blog is supposed to be concerned more with movement than ideas, I have nonetheless chosen to write about our national identity on the day I believe most defines it.

Below, I’ve posted in a piece I wrote while in Turkey in 2001. I attended ANZAC Day services, along with 15,000 other people because, although I have long been an ardent pacifist, the military has been a part of my life longer.

I was surprised by how moved I was by the service; how powerful the sense of history and the all-pervading knowledge of senseless death.

And it was senseless. No one celebrating the day should deny this. We were invaders sent to our deaths for a misguided and rather esoteric military objective. The Turks were defending their homes and their families. And everyone died. The bodies lie side by side and anyone visiting the area tours not just the Allied graves but those of the Turks as well.

In one grave, an Australian soldier lies wrapped around a Turkish soldier: we lie together in death. The Turks see this as a symbol of mutual respect and understanding between two opposing forces and so should we.

Standing on those shores one is most struck by the fact that we are not glorifying battle or some misguided notion of an honourable death for Queen and country. No, we are commemorating the willingness of people on BOTH SIDES to sacrifice themselves for something they believe is greater than themselves. We are also reminding ourselves of the ongoing need to strive for peace, to prevent these horrors from happening again: something that we seem to have lost the will for in the past few years.

To quote the Dedication to Peace, spoken as part of the Dawn Service on that day in 2001: “Anzac Day is important We must not forget those who went to war and those who died. We must honour them. We must not forget the example they showed us; we must develop their Spirit of Sacrifice and Commitment. We dare not forget the terrible cost of war: we must work for peace together. In this Peace Park, we are surrounded by the final resting place of soldiers. If our coming here moves us to work even harder for peace, their deaths will not have been in vain.”

I’ve often pondered why we as a nation commemorate a defeat and a skilled withdrawal. I feel this is the defining aspect of our identity that we should not lose. We stood on those shores as Australians for the first time, our identity separate from the other nations that stood with us and we became for the first time ourselves and not a colony of British people on the other side of the world. Whether we won or lost the battle before us was irrelevant. There is no glory in this moment, no great heroic victory to sing songs over. There is simply ourselves; stripped bare and exposed to the world to see. And we lost and liked what we saw nonetheless.

And we cannot forget that for those brave soldiers fighting on the other side, this moment was theirs as well. Because Gallipoli was not just our defining moment of identity: it was the moment the modern nation of Turkey was born as well. There is a reason why the Turkish people celebrate Sovereignty Day on 23 April, a date so close to the one we commemorate. This is something we share and that moment of mutual respect and recognition should never be lost. Because it is within our knowledge of our enemy as human beings that we forge connections across culture and country and become one body of people inhabiting this planet.

As Ataturk memorably said in 1934:
“Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country Therefore rest in peace There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours You, the mothers who sent your sons from far away countries wipe away your tears Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.”

Today is ANZAC Day. March, protest, wear medals, use the word 'digger' a lot, hide from the pageantry, rant about the glorification of war, drink coffee with rum in it or sing songs at dawn in the chill air. But above all things.

Reflect.

I am...you are...Anzac Day 2001

We gathered in the darkness before dawn.

I'd love to say we arrived silently, barely disturbing the stillness of mountains and ocean. Instead we roared in. Buses and cars a choking snarl of steel.

We gathered in the darkness. Fifteen thousand people on a pilgrimage to a single ancient battleground.

Anzac Cove
Anzac Day
Anzacs

As dawn broke over the Dardenelles, striking the mountains and beaches of the Gallipoli Pensinsula, those of us who had travelled from across Europe and across the world repeated an 86 year old tradition of commemoration and prayer.

As the flags of Australia, Turkey and New Zealand fluttered in the morning breeze against the brilliance of a clear blue sky, and the strains of The Last Post echoed and then dissipated, I heard the single amazing sound of my life.

The silence of 15,000 people.

Not one rustle, one whisper disturbed the air. The gentle wash of the ocean against a once-bloodied beach the only sound.

At Lone Pine later in the day, where a single Pine tree still sways in the spring breeze, there was an air of celebration and spontaneous joy. The day was hot and bright and blue and we sat in the cemetary among the graves of Aussies and Kiwis and Turks and sang for the dead and for the living.

It's unusual to see a group of Australians displaying nationalism in an overt way. Yet that is what we saw on that hill as diggers made their way through a crowd 10,000 strong and received a spontaneous standing ovation. Old men from an old war with tears streaming down their lined faces, their medals proudly displayed on their upright chests.

The New Zealand Memorial Service was no less moving. Chunuk Bair, where the Kiwis hovered on the edge of victory before the English were defeated by Ataturk, is one of the few places on this Earth where a memorial to two opposing forces stand facing each other.

As the crowd finished singing the bi-lingual Kiwi National Anthem, a spontaneous Haka by NZ forces was greeted with cheers. It was an amazing day of celebration, commemoration, sadness, joy and an overwhelming call for peace.

Anzac is not and never should be a glorification of war. That we choose to commemorate Anzac Day and a battle of defeat and skilled evacuation does not just serve as an indication of who we are, of our heart and spirit. The celebration has also shaped us over the past 86 years. And the commemoration has shaped and continues to shape what we think, what we feel about what it means to be an Australian. And as the numbers attending Anzac Day increase the impact it has on our psyche will also grow.

In the end, Anzac Day is less about a battle and more about what it means to be Australian. The Turkish people believe the Gallipoli campaigns gave them their nation, their freedom and their identity because it gave them their father: Mustafa Kemal known lovingly as Ataturk. In the same way, Gallipoli gave us our freedom and our independence by giving us our first sense of nationhood.

And as we stand on the beach and up at The Lone Pine this is what we gain and what becomes strengthened. Many query the journey. Even those involved find it difficult to explain what draws them to this place in greater numbers as each years passes. For me, and I believe for many others, the answers lie in that open applause for the diggers.

I am
You are
We are
Australian

Happy birthday to..Meeee

Flew down to Brisvegas last week for my birthday and had a very good time. Mostly eating, drinking whisky, and watching too much bad science fiction but I also climbed the Story Bridge, which is well worth a blog entry. Dad and my birthdays are only a week apart and we both got the climb as a gift. Had to get up at 3:30am to get to the climb at 4am and My Lord was it cold after Darwin. The climb itself was quite easy and we finished as dawn started breaking. It was a little cloudy, unfortunately, but still a beautiful view (see photo of me and my father below). Raced off afterwards for a traditional coffee at the New Farm Deli, which still has some of the best coffee ever. However briefly, it was really good to be home.