What State Am I in Now?

Well, it's perfectly appropriate that I should pen this blog entry from an internet cafe in Wollongong. Really, I should be typing using my fancy wireless internet connection from my laptop which I lug around valiantly on various trips. But I haven't got myself sorted to establish the wireless connection. The laptop usually ends up being as well utilised as the sports clothes I pack everytime I go interstate. In real life, I'm usually too tired, too tempted by the TV, or talking with colleagues into the wee hours of the night.

What State am I in now? Tired. The interesting thing about working for both Desert Knowledge CRC (DKCRC) and the Ngaanyatjarra Council is that I seem to spend half my time in neither workplace! So far, for DKCRC I've been to Brisbane and Wollongong. For Ng Council, I've been to Kalgoorlie, Perth and Irrunytju. And for me (suddenly I have the song lyrics"I've been to paradise but I've never been to me" ringing through my head), I've been to Canberra for a wedding. Not bad for 2 1/2 months on the job. I'm sure my colleagues at Ng Council must wonder if I actually do any work, as I always have the little red magnetic marker next to my name in the Out column.

Now would be a perfect time to attach some photos. I would love to attach some Kalgoorlie photos, but even though I bought a digital camera for exactly this moment, it doesn't mean that I actually remember to pack it. Not that there is a lot to see in Kalgoorlie. It's flat. Very flat. I had a brief moment of delight when I exclaimed 'oh wow, a hill at last', only to find that it was in fact the edge of the open cut gold mine pit. The mine pit extends the breadth of the town. The mining flavour of the town is strong. Take, for instance, the name of the local rag - the Kalgoorlie Miner. The main drag of town goes by the nickname of The Golden Mile (this is in fact the name used to describe the square mile around Kalgoorlie, which is the richest gold producing area in the world). And, having arrived, I quickly realised why the region was called the Northern Goldfields. That's because of all the gold. Stupid I know, but sometimes these things just don't make sense until you're actually in a place.

In lieu of Kalgoorlie photos taken with my expert eye, see attached link for some professional snaps; the last photo is of the Superpit (aforementioned 'hill'). I can affirm that it looks just like this. It's also the place where I first swore in the presence of my gracious hostess, Jacqui Brodie (Deputy ICC Manager, Kalgoorlie), proving that I am in fact human and not at all like I seem. Butter does in fact melt in my mouth. For those who like some useless facts with their photos, the superpit is actually comprised of 8 pits merged into one (super, hey). When completed, it will be 5k long, 2k wide and up to 450m deep (deep, huh). http://www.kalgoorlie.com/community/gallery.asp

Moving on from Kalgoorlie, I'm sure many more of you are wondering (a) where is Irruntyu? and (b) what does it look like? Irrunytju, also known as Wingellina, is a small Pitjantjatjara community near Surveyor-General's Corner (border of NT, WA and SA). Just as an aside for the curious, there are in fact two border markers (neither of which I have seen, despite being so close), as the southern-bound surveyors were using stars and the western-bound surveyors were using radio. To make life easier, they put up two posts. It will only become important, and worth clarifying, when the 100m patch in between proves to be the world's richest source of [insert mineral here]. Irrunytju is the only primarily Pitjantjatjara-speaking community coming under the umbrella of the Ngaanyatjarra Council. While State borders may be irrelevant to them, they're not to governments and so it was in Irrunytju's best interest to align with the WA Ng Council rather than the APY Lands in SA.

As for many Aboriginal communities, especially traditional communities, taking photos on the Lands is a fraught affair. This relates primarily to concerns about how the photos might be used in the future (especially once the person has died, when even their name - and anyone else with the same name - must not be referred to until the right amount of time has passed. Some significant men from the Lands still have their name as 'Kunmanara' even many years later). This means that it's not appropriate to take out the camera and start shooting, especially in groups. Permission is needed first. And in order to get permission, you need a relationship with the people and a reason to take the shots. All in all, this discounts me from being able to take any pictures that will give you a sense of how the general community feels and moves! As soon as I'm able to put shots up, and have the right permission to publish them on the blog, then you'll be the first to know.

In the meantime, to get a better sense of Irrunytju, have a look at their arts centre website. Irrunytju has some renowned Aborginal artists, painting in the Western Desert art tradition. They also host Ngaanyatjarra Media, the regional media organisation that supports radio and telecommunications initiatives on the Ng Lands. http://www.irrunytju.com.au

Heat, house and home...

The first instalment of my life and times in Alice. I've been busy collecting stories and snippets for you all but there has been a delay in actually sitting down to write . While I've put this on a public 'blog', I'm sure that there will be few that read this beyond my nearest and dearest - who will be forcibly dragged to the site (if they are an unsuspecting IT noviate, such as I). Of course, 'build it and they will come' - I could be famous some day after all.

You've no doubt been hearing some pretty wonderful items about Alice in the media the last few days. I would dearly love to disavow you of the negative stories, and perhaps pass on some pertinent anecdotes from the coalface (so to speak), but I'm afraid I can't. It's one of the interesting things about living in Alice - you don't really know where you are living. And this isn't some sort of isolationists, 4O+C in the shade memory loss. Alice is two worlds - one black, one white, and barely shall the twain meet. But before proceeding gaily into the racial divide, which is inevitable if you live in Alice, it might be nicer if I gave you a brief acclimatisation to my arrival and various goings on.

I entered the Territory [pause to consider word choice...] Central Australia on the Ghan (see photo above, 'view from train', and right 'crossing the Finke). If you're wondering what's up with the word choice, I'll give you a quick lesson. We're not really Territorians - that means Darwin, and Darwin's a dirty word. Alice residents are Centralians. It's a whole different world. Anything south of the Berrima line is our territory and not the Territory. If it weren't so uneconomic, and Darwin hadn't already siphoned off too much of the funds, we'd create a new State. What this diatribe really means is that Alice Springs residents feel forgotton, poor and hard done by. Personally, I feel like saying 'get over it, everyone feels like that about their capital city', but I get the general feeling that won't help me settle in as a local.

Travel on the Ghan - see the Red Centre. Sounds romantic huh. In truth, if you're not paying a few thousand for your ticket, then you're really just a train bobbing along at what seems like 50k an hour. It took 15 hours to get here from Adelaide, and at times I felt like giving the conductor a useful travel tip like 'we could get there sooner if the train driver sped up' and 'this could be really good for attracing more customers, arriving sooner...' But I resisted, on the basis that it was likely they'd thought of this, and perhaps there was a technical reason why we were going so slow.

When I arrived at last, I was flung into the mad house that is the housing market in Alice. In short, the houses are crap, the good ones are rented before they're listed, and the rent is outrageously high. I swear to you that I had one real estate agent point out that the dingy bright orange two bedroom unit with two windows (total) had electricity. I was tempted to state that I forgot to pack my lanterns, so electricity was just what I was looking for. Instead I nodded sagely and left without looking back. Thankfully, unexpected help arrived.

Enter stage right: Lord Peter.
Scene: 1 Chewings St, Alice Springs. A beautiful 'Old Eastside' house, unique in Alice. Situated right on the edge of usually dry Todd River, 1 Chewings St is an island unto itself (a fact proved true when the next 100 year flood arrives in town, courtesy of the house being built by a former town council engineer in the early '50s expansion of Alice).

When not acting as my faithful landlord, Lord Peter masquerades by day as Peter Schaefer, manager of Jessica Court serviced apartments. He also gives general good counsel upon request. And if I need a doctor for an emergency tracheotomy, Jennifer (his wife) will no doubt happily oblige. The beauty of the Lord is that he also does the gardens, included standard in the rent, and managed to preserve the beautiful original mermaid you can see in the bathroom shower screen. (I know it's a bit odd to put a picture of your bathroom in, but you can always tell what a house is like by it's bathroom).

So, having settled in to Alice, and found a house like no other, all there was to do was acclimatise to the weather and the rubbish. Each in turn.

I set off to Alice without air-conditioning in my car. It took me about 24 hours to fundamentally reprioritise my spending needs and decide to shell out the $1800 needed to get in installed. I can't think when I last splurged on something that I needed so bad, only to discover that perhaps I didn't need it so bad. I admit that it could be the march of time, but since I've arrived, I seem to have slotted right into the usually 32C days with little if any trouble. Whereas before I would have been flaked out on the sofa and stumbling to the cinema for relief, now I'm setting off for a bike ride around the city because 'it's nice out'. I'm not much helped in determining if it's nice out by the local radio announcers generally forgetting to state the forecast each morning, opting instead for the more useful (?) figure of the current temperature. Instead, I tensely stay tuned to national radio and give thanks (yet again) that Alice is big enough to be listed.

Speaking of being big enough (about 30,000), it's the rubbish in Alice that's hardest to get used to. Now clearly this wouldn't be the sort of thing one would ordinarily worry about. But after having spent 15 years in Canberra, I've become used to the general feeling of peace and self-righteousness that comes from carefully separating recyclable fron non-recyclable. The guilt here is enormous. There is no, repeat no, recyling. Of any sort. Bottles, plastics and potato peelings all go into the same big landfill. For someone vaguely interested in the environment, but not quite interested enough to do compost, this is a struggle to live with on a daily basis. No more warm inner glow as I studiously ignore my compostable material by gazing lovingly at the filled-to-overflowing recyling bin.

I didn't quite get to tell you about my experience of the town in black and white. Nor many other things I've saved up to tell you. I guess you'll just have to stay tuned for more exciting adventures... coming up next: outback ballooning and an 8 hour cycle to somewhere just out of town. Still to come: Getting Involved (otherwise known as Doing Too Much), the Housemate, and What State Am I in Now? (and I mean federal/state, not disrepair/state). And, of course, the Racial Divide...

Sophie xx