Trouble in paradise

Long time no speaks.  There are a couple of reasons for this.

The first is that the computer had a hissyfit and has been in the fixit shop for some time.  Given that everything here from swimming lessons to school stationery to groceries costs a number 150% to 200% more than I was used to paying in NZ, then I'm in no rush to ring and find out how much it will cost to fix it. So every few days I pop to the library to clear emails and today I have borrowed a computer.

The second reason is because I've gone a bit too far in collecting local souvenirs.  Happily I did finally find a cool dolphin thing and when I get my computer back I'll show you.  Sadly I also collected something Mandurah and the Peel region is somewhat infamous for.  I am a statistic.  I am one of the several hundred people to have contracted Ross River Virus here this summer.

Ross River Virus is spread by mosquitoes.  It makes you feel like a giant pile of stuff you don't want to find on your shoe.  Then it goes away.  Then it comes back.  Apparently this can go on for years.  On the upside it makes you save money as if you have even one drink you get a week-long hangover.  When my GP rang to tell me the news she said "You don't need this", as up until then she'd only met me as the partner of someone having major surgery and the mother of two children under ongoing specialist care.  She's right, but I can't think of anyone who does need this.

Mandurah is a mosquitoey place simply due to its geography and ecosystems.  Mosquitoes are far more prolific here in summer than other seasons. The council takes various measures to keep mosquito numbers under control but this year was a huge challenge as there have been a series of exceptionally high tides and these created ideal breeding conditions.  There is also an interesting article here implicating the man-made Dawesville Channel in exacerbating the problem.  So the council hugely ramped up their usual mosquito control measures but even so mosquito numbers have been spectacularly high, some saying at unprecedented levels. These are salt marsh mosquitoes which are particularly vicious and bite throughout the day.

I am a goody-two-shoes type person when it comes to public health warnings so religiously followed the council's advice to prevent being bitten.  I ditched my black clothes and wear long, loose-fitting, pale-coloured clothing (stop sniggering).  Every morning before getting dressed I douse myself in products labelled "WARNING: May be dangerous, particularly to children, if used in large amounts on the skin, clothes or on large areas of the body, especially if you keep using it for a long time".  (Makeup is an ancient memory.) Ironically, after spending many years cooking from scratch, no-spray gardening, and fastidiously reading labels in order to keep potentially harmful chemicals away from my children, I also douse my children in this toxic stuff.  We reapply it after a few hours, after swimming, sweating or after reapplying our sunscreen. We have been doing this for months.

Despite these efforts my son and I, who are both ridiculously attractive to mosquitoes, will each cop at least six new bites a day.  Now don't go thinking I'm doing anything sporty, "lifestyley" or am lurking in wetlands; I'm simply hanging out washing at midday in 35 degree sunshine, putting out the rubbish, collecting children from school, taking them to after school activities or walking our neighbour's dog.  During these activities I get bitten in the part of my hair, on the soles of my feet and palms of my hands, on my eyelids, up inside my loose-fitting clothing, and most insultingly of all, straight through two layers of clothing, one of which is Thunderpants. The children have asked me to make them netting "Bug Burqas" and when we do buy a house I plan to erect a circus-tent-sized mosquito net right over it.

How people live with this long-term and don't go mental is a complete mystery to me. There is so much to enjoy here and the natural environment really is gorgeous, but the mosquito problem puts a serious dampener on things.  Although I've met many locals who talk about "living in paradise", I'm not so sure.  Mandurah is one of the fastest growing cities in Australia, but I've met people who after this hideous summer have had enough and are moving away.

Now I've probably ruined all chance of enticing friends and family here in summer but heck, would I wish the way I'm feeling on any of my friends, family or their children?  Errrrr, no.  Come here in winter or spring or autumn instead.  And if you are over this way in summer, I'll meet you in King's Park in Perth where we enjoyed an entire evening summer Shakespeare performance without seeing a single mosquito.  Now that's my idea of paradise.

Pics are of artist Richard Tipping's work, from here.

Dare to hope, prepare to be disappointed

When we were planning to move here various friends wondered whether the climate here would be kinder to my daughter's painful arthritic condition.  For me it was a case of "dare to hope, but prepare to be disappointed".  Long story, details of which are not very interesting (are other people's medical dramas ever?), but the conclusion is a rather disappointing big, fat, stiff, sore, swollen, debilitating, screaming heap of no. 

This week my very brave daughter spent three days and one night at the children's hospital in Perth.  My son of course needed to keep attending school and normal life in Mandurah.  I've been doing so much driving between Mandurah and Perth that I'm in danger of getting pressure sores.  Oh and as is often the way, my partner was away for part of that time; he considered cancelling the trip, but didn't need to as I have finally learned from many years experience that if I actually take up people's kind offers of help then I can do quite tricky things.

Luckily my son has befriended a great boy.  Before I met him I asked my son what his friend was like and he replied "As nice as my NZ friends!" - high praise indeed.  The boy has an equally great mother and she has been a star this week.

Now my daughter is home and drugs are our friends again.  Things are looking up as she a) scoffed her favourite weekend breakfast with gusto this morning and b) can finally make a fist - useful!  Hopefully she'll soon be back throwing herself into things without a nasty accompanying sting.

Swimming with sharks

Many years ago I bought a pair of "Swimming with Sharks" shoes.  My daughter loved the brand name, kept the box and regularly mentioned that she'd love to go swimming with sharks.  While we do plan to go up to Ningaloo Reef to swim with the whale sharks at some stage, I suspect that my marine-biology-mad and scarily brave daughter is talking about something with a bit more bite.

In our time here we have however swum with all sorts of interesting creatures.  We regularly swim with "stingers" - both the sort that make you feel that you've got your finger in a power-socket for the next hour and the sort that leave you with an enormous red rash for a fortnight.  We don't recommend it. 

We often see rays below us when we swim in the estuary or snorkel in various bays.  When we do I have to calmly remind myself that they are beautiful creatures and try very hard not to squeal like a girl. 

Several times we've just gone out for a swim and suddenly found ourselves swimming with dolphins.  Recently I stood on the shore at the local beach and watched a baby seal swim around my children; I had a feeling that that might not end tidily then the next day read in the newspaper that you should get out of the water smartly if you see seals as sharks sometimes follow.  But as far as we know we still haven't actually been swimming with sharks.

Last week was my son's birthday.  To celebrate we went to AQWA which is the Aquarium of Western Australia in Perth.  It is absolutely amazing and we all had a fabulous time there.  I put it right at the very top of the Must-do list for any visitors to this region. All these photos were taken there, some by me on my clunky antique camera and some by the children using my son's sleek new underwater camera (which cost less than I spend on bananas each week).

Downstairs at AQWA there is a huge tank with a clear plastic tunnel through it.  From inside this tunnel you have an incredible view of a huge array of creatures including what I thought were quite big sharks and very big rays. We were there for feeding time.  Two tiny wet-suited children were lowered into the tank and proceeded to hand feed fish to the tank's inhabitants.  (My daughter's eyes lit up.) It took me quite some time to figure out that it was an optical illusion; the tiny children were of course normal sized adults, meaning that the big sharks were actually huge sharks and the big rays were actually enormous rays.

But that is just one of the many exhibits.  Western Australia's coastline is huge and ranges from tropical waters to far cooler southern waters and the many exhibits at AQWA reflect all of these.

The most exciting part of all however is that in only two and a half more years time I can front up to AQWA for my daughter's birthday, hand over a fist full of dollars and throw her into a tank full of sharks; yes, at AQWA you really can swim (and snorkel and dive) with sharks. 

Although I know she'll swim straight up to the plastic tunnel and give me a cheesy grin and a big thumbs up, I'm very pleased I've still got two and a half years to get my head around the idea.

An even stranger day in paradise

As Tuesday dawned my biggest worries were how to get through yet another 35 degree day without ending up with a face like a wet cricket ball (my new look), how to deal with the Monstrous Mandurah Mosquitoey Massacre (you don't want to know, well unless you are thinking of moving here in which case you really do need to know) and what to cook for tea given that the temperature in our kitchen has barely dipped below 30 degrees in a month.  I had a big fat "To do" list in my paw and was about to head out the door when the phone rang.  It was my lovely neighbour (Tammy the dog's owner) offering condolences, a cup of tea and company should I need someone to watch the TV with.

That was the first I'd heard about what a truly hideous day Christchurch people were having.  All my plans for the day were blown away as yet again I sat glued to the computer and TV watching the dreadful story unfold.  It is enormously distressing to sit here and see the destruction but of course that in no way compares with the ghastly situation my dear friends and everyone else in Christchurch are living through. 

To those of you living in a devastated city I send my love and best wishes and I wait in hope to hear good news of you and your loved ones, though tragically not everyone is going to get the "We are all OK" news we long for. I feel so far away and useless.  I keep hearing perky "onwards and upwards" talk from politicians about doggedly rebuilding Christchurch: the old "Keep Calm And Carry On"  and "We will emerge stronger" sentiments.  I guess they have to say that but it makes me feel strangely uneasy. I know many of you and your children were already feeling emotionally battered and bruised after the months of relentless aftershocks so this must just be the absolute pits.

Yesterday we received this message from a friend in Christchurch which she described as a "cloudy, drizzly, collapsing city":
"It is distressing to see all the things in life that you work hard to achieve collapsing around you, but the best thing is knowing that the people who mean so much to you are there."  She asked "Maybe it's time to think about a new start in a new place – or is that cowardly?"  I for one would answer that no, it isn't the slightest bit cowardly.  It takes enormous courage to decide to leave a place you love and the people you love.

The pictures in this post are of Argentinean artist Tomas Saraceno’s floating sculpture Cloud City.  It was commissioned by The Perth Festival and was installed at a park in Perth on Saturday 19th Feb where it was supposed to stay tethered and floating until Sunday 27th Feb.  Sadly, less than 24 hours after it was installed, this gorgeous sculpture was battered and destroyed by strong winds, and parts of it set sail across the city and were later found 15 kms away in the sea.  I didn't get to see it; these photo of it in its full glory then post-destruction are by Fenella Kernebone from ABC Arts.  You can also see some very beautiful photos of this unexpectedly ephemeral work on Richard Eden's Flickr photostream here.

The Be(A)st of Taylor Mac - in Mandurah!

"He's an unflinching witness to a host of society's ills... linked together by a gentle, impassioned humanity and a wry humour that can have you helpless with laughter, then overcome by an urge to weep - and ultimately left thinking, and wanting to make life better. For real, and not in some cyber-limbo."
Review of The Be(A)st of Taylor Mac by Mary Brennan in The Herald

"An intellectually arduous and beautifully realized piece about the dangers of homogeneity, and what happens to the soul when it forgoes the richness of the imagination."
Review of The Be(A)st of Taylor Mac by  Hilton Als, The New Yorker

Ohhhhhh that sounds like just what I need.  Lucky me this Sunday night I get to go and see  New York performer Taylor Mac in action.  TimeOut New York called him  "One of the most exciting theater artists of our time" and American Theater Magazine says, "Mac is one of this country’s most heroic and disarmingly funny playwrights."

Astonishingly enough he is performing right here in Mandurah at the Mandurah Performing Arts Centre.  I've seen some great stuff there already but nothing quite like this!  I do hope Mandurah realises how lucky it is, local folk bring their open minds to the the party and that I'm not the only one there!

(All photos swiped from here.)

Filling our boots

A while back I read an article in the West Australian newspaper headed Culture still struggles in WA .  I showed the article to my partner wondering what he would make of it.  He just laughed and said they should "Wear it like a badge!"

Thankfully for those of us who do like a spot of arts participation there are plenty of arts events on offer in WA.  A highlight of the calendar is the annual Perth International Arts Festival which opened on Friday night.  Our whole household went up to Perth for the spectacular free outdoor opening show (above) then my partner and I continued to fill our boots all weekend.

We saw The Red Shoes,

Donka: A Letter to Chekhov,

new dance piece Human Interest Story,

and The Manganiyar Seduction.

I'm too knackered to do proper reviews but it was a fabulous weekend and I was very, very happy with our selections. The festival closes on 7th March and we're living on beans again this week as we plan to get to several more shows yet.  WA audiences do seem to get their act together when supporting this festival as a few shows I've been slack about booking for are long sold out.  Yes, Houston we have a no interactive Mission Control tickets left problem.

Never mind.  I'm sure we'll still get our fill.  Well done to outgoing Artistic Director Shelagh Magadza and her team.  Great to see from the excellent audiences and their enthusiastic responses that we are not alone in our appreciation of their efforts.

(All photos swiped from the Perth Festival website.)

Same, same ... but different

While living here I'm constantly reminded of the fabulous saying "same, same... but different".  I'm forever doing a double-take as I admire Perth-made wares which remind me of similar New Zealand-made ones, discovering Australian writers who remind me of favourite New Zealand ones, and spotting Australian versions of New Zealand native plants (as per the Dianellas from either side of the Tasman above).

Our national days fall into this pattern too.  On the surface Australia Day and Waitangi Day are pretty similar though how these two countries go about marking their national days is quite different.  I didn't know whether Australia Day would mirror New Zealand's usual sombre official commemorations and news-making confrontations, controversies and protests. 

So I asked an Australian woman I'd met recently exactly what Australia Day entailed and how Australians celebrated it. Her answer:  "It's a huge party day.  People wear Australian flag board shorts or Australian flag bikinis, stick Australian flags in their cars, go to a public place, burn sausages, drink alcohol, make fools of themselves then late at night during a massive public fireworks display they either get sentimental or punchy.  The next day they ring in sick to work citing "crook guts from dodgy snarler" when the truth is more likely "monster hangover, third degree sunburn, two black eyes and still in the clink." "

Hmmmm, not really my style.  So I said "No, I mean what do the prissy Australians do?"

"Oh" she said,  "they go on a family picnic!" 

So that is what we did.  Into two cars we packed 5 members of this household, one daughter's friend, 2 kayaks, 2 bulging picnic hampers, 3 boogie boards, a picnic rug, a bucket-sized bottle of industrial-strength sunscreen and masses of swimming gear.  We went to a place my partner and I had both spotted on our respective morning walks which we thought would be just the ticket.  There we met up with our son's friend and his mother. When we arrived at 9.30am the place was already dotted with a few other people with the same idea. 

We set about the business of having fun.  It turns out that the spot we'd chosen was not only perfect for kayaking, swimming and picnicking, but it was also the prime vantage point for viewing the flotilla of decorated boats which cruised past us for hours. 

Throughout the day more and more people arrived and it soon became apparent that our chosen spot was also the prime spot favoured by the folks my friend had described, which meant we also had excellent entertainment laid on all day.  The plod came by regularly to check that all was in order but they didn't once check in with our group.  Maybe our wholemeal vegetarian wraps and lashings of iced tea gave us away as too tame to waste time on.

Dolphins cruised past then swam alongside us while we kayaked.  We swam, chatted, ate and were entertained by frequent chants of "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi".  We watched as even more decorated boats cruised by.

We had a lovely time.   I thought about how nowhere I've ever lived was perfect, but how nice it is to find whatever it is that you love wherever it is that you live, to find like-minded people wherever you live and to actually like where you live.  (Below is my favourite boat of the day: an old, elegant, beautifully made, perfectly maintained and stylishly simple number.) I am sure I was not alone in also thinking about what a great country this is and how lucky we are to live here. 

Then mid-afternoon a portly, crayfish-coloured, RTD-fuelled young chap at the neighbouring picnic who was wearing an Australian flag as a cape, climbed a spindly Casuarina tree and bounced about on a branch above his partner, children and friends. I figured that should an ambulance be required then it could probably make good use of our parking spaces so we packed up and went home.

Later that day I watched TV news coverage of Australia Day protests where indigenous Australians dubbed the day "Invasion Day".  That evening I devoured another book by my latest favourite Australian novelist; I wondered whether Helen Garner and Fiona Farrell have met and if they have whether they got on like a house on fire (I do hope so).  A few days later I dipped into The Press online and read about a young Christchurch City councillor's account of bogans at the beach.  I thought that maybe Australia and New Zealand really are same, same ... but different.

So happy Waitangi Day New Zealanders.  However you mark it, I expect that you too will spare a moment to think about how lucky you are to live in such a great place.