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Flight 347 to Brisbane
Dec. 29th, 2001 01:56 pm[The following was written yesterday on the plane]
My taxi driver had more degrees than most people I have known - three Masters degrees in computer technology and business. We discussed employment prospects, the vagaries of the court in relation to red light fines, and travel. He was articulate, laughed at my jokes, and when he dropped me off at the airport I tipped him the balance of the fare to however much made it forty dollars. A generous gesture, but I considered it payment for services rendered - I was smiling as I entered the Virgin Blue terminal.
The taxi driver was from Pakistan.
Sunset drenched Melbourne in liquid gold as we took off, the low-lying rain clouds forming a mystical mountain range on the horizon. Every time I see Melbourne, I am reminded of how much I miss it - strange coming from the country girl. Once upon a time I thought I could be content living in the country, but like so much else, the dislike of cities in general and Melbourne in particular was just another grafted trait, picked up from BRM. Sometimes I feel like an onion, time peeling away the layers, skins made up of what other people gave me. Or expected of me.
The Virgin Blue terminal held echoes of a previous visit, of the game of Pass-The-Canadian that was Dex's Aussie experience. I boarded with only minutes to spare - bless that nameless Pakistani computer-tech! - with my stomach fizzing from a mixture of hunger and excitement. Food could wait, easily, after the indulgences of Christmas tightening both my belt and my pursestrings - the taxi driver couldn't have known I was tipping him a meal. Excitement could wait also, although less easily as I hungered for Mel-hugs far more. Leanne was right about the skin-hunger - I find myself craving human warmth as vehemently as any vampire.
I decided to think, instead, of the woman on the train, a buxom, cheerful woman with skin the colour of a good caffe latter and a simple, infectious joy about her. Even when she was pouring beer on my foot as she fell asleep. She was unself-conscious, at ease within her flesh, and I felt my mouth turning up at the corners just listening to her. We wished each other a Happy New Year and a good time, parting from the train - she to her gay boys and me to my taxi - and I think we both meant it. I know I did.
The horizon glowed slightly as we left the sun, and I wondered if I would be able to see the fires of Sydney as we passed, twinkling far below like the eyes of dragons. In the end we were too far removed, in the cloud-realm ruled by the metal birds of transport. My thoughts were freer than the rest of me, and I sent them down to join those I knew are facing what surely looks like hell; at least, that's what the TV tells me.
We joke, we Aussies, that Australia can kill you if you aren't careful, but as with all our humour, it holds truth. This is a harsh land, an old land, and we are interlopers here. There is a mutual respect, a wariness, ingrained in the Australian psyche, ignored at our peril. It is well not to poke the apparently-harmless snake, and wise not to surround your house with potentially-explosive eucalypts.
And always prepare for the worst.
The man - boy really, under the designer stubble - next to me was snoring gently, baseball cap pulled low to shield his eyes from my overhead light, He cradled a newspaper - "Your Say"! the Herald-Sun screamed out at me from the headlines, and I wondered just when did the Hun speak for me? Certainly not that day, with its calls of 'No Boat People". Mel is right - these are shameful times. I know now why I found my Christmas spirit lacking this year - it's difficult to find hope when things feel increasigly hopeless. When no-one seems to care, or even to think about things beyod themselves, their homes, their computer screens. When John Howard was re-elcted, I lost my faith in my country, and in my country-people, who would vote for someone clearly shown to be a bigot and a racist simply because it was the easy choice, the simple choice. "The country needs a stable leader", I was told by the media, but the only stability The Gnome brings is stagnation and ignorance. In Sydney, the AusConners made universal rude gestures in the direction of Kirribilli House, the PM's residence. Childish, perhaps, but a small gesture of revolt. A sign that at least one small group of people were not content to let things lie, to wrap themselves in their own lives and refuse to consider a bigger picture.
Ignorance is my greatest fear, the thing that causes me the most despair. Especially wilful ignorance. People find it easier to focus on and think about the trivialities.
I slept, to wake at journey's end.
My taxi driver had more degrees than most people I have known - three Masters degrees in computer technology and business. We discussed employment prospects, the vagaries of the court in relation to red light fines, and travel. He was articulate, laughed at my jokes, and when he dropped me off at the airport I tipped him the balance of the fare to however much made it forty dollars. A generous gesture, but I considered it payment for services rendered - I was smiling as I entered the Virgin Blue terminal.
The taxi driver was from Pakistan.
Sunset drenched Melbourne in liquid gold as we took off, the low-lying rain clouds forming a mystical mountain range on the horizon. Every time I see Melbourne, I am reminded of how much I miss it - strange coming from the country girl. Once upon a time I thought I could be content living in the country, but like so much else, the dislike of cities in general and Melbourne in particular was just another grafted trait, picked up from BRM. Sometimes I feel like an onion, time peeling away the layers, skins made up of what other people gave me. Or expected of me.
The Virgin Blue terminal held echoes of a previous visit, of the game of Pass-The-Canadian that was Dex's Aussie experience. I boarded with only minutes to spare - bless that nameless Pakistani computer-tech! - with my stomach fizzing from a mixture of hunger and excitement. Food could wait, easily, after the indulgences of Christmas tightening both my belt and my pursestrings - the taxi driver couldn't have known I was tipping him a meal. Excitement could wait also, although less easily as I hungered for Mel-hugs far more. Leanne was right about the skin-hunger - I find myself craving human warmth as vehemently as any vampire.
I decided to think, instead, of the woman on the train, a buxom, cheerful woman with skin the colour of a good caffe latter and a simple, infectious joy about her. Even when she was pouring beer on my foot as she fell asleep. She was unself-conscious, at ease within her flesh, and I felt my mouth turning up at the corners just listening to her. We wished each other a Happy New Year and a good time, parting from the train - she to her gay boys and me to my taxi - and I think we both meant it. I know I did.
The horizon glowed slightly as we left the sun, and I wondered if I would be able to see the fires of Sydney as we passed, twinkling far below like the eyes of dragons. In the end we were too far removed, in the cloud-realm ruled by the metal birds of transport. My thoughts were freer than the rest of me, and I sent them down to join those I knew are facing what surely looks like hell; at least, that's what the TV tells me.
We joke, we Aussies, that Australia can kill you if you aren't careful, but as with all our humour, it holds truth. This is a harsh land, an old land, and we are interlopers here. There is a mutual respect, a wariness, ingrained in the Australian psyche, ignored at our peril. It is well not to poke the apparently-harmless snake, and wise not to surround your house with potentially-explosive eucalypts.
And always prepare for the worst.
The man - boy really, under the designer stubble - next to me was snoring gently, baseball cap pulled low to shield his eyes from my overhead light, He cradled a newspaper - "Your Say"! the Herald-Sun screamed out at me from the headlines, and I wondered just when did the Hun speak for me? Certainly not that day, with its calls of 'No Boat People". Mel is right - these are shameful times. I know now why I found my Christmas spirit lacking this year - it's difficult to find hope when things feel increasigly hopeless. When no-one seems to care, or even to think about things beyod themselves, their homes, their computer screens. When John Howard was re-elcted, I lost my faith in my country, and in my country-people, who would vote for someone clearly shown to be a bigot and a racist simply because it was the easy choice, the simple choice. "The country needs a stable leader", I was told by the media, but the only stability The Gnome brings is stagnation and ignorance. In Sydney, the AusConners made universal rude gestures in the direction of Kirribilli House, the PM's residence. Childish, perhaps, but a small gesture of revolt. A sign that at least one small group of people were not content to let things lie, to wrap themselves in their own lives and refuse to consider a bigger picture.
Ignorance is my greatest fear, the thing that causes me the most despair. Especially wilful ignorance. People find it easier to focus on and think about the trivialities.
I slept, to wake at journey's end.
