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Wondering Pilgrim

~ the ramblings of a perambulent and often distracted sojourner

Wondering Pilgrim

Tag Archives: travel

Tea and Sugar Train

11 Wednesday Jan 2012

Posted by wonderingpilgrim in Personal, travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Australia, tea & sugar, train, travel

English: Trackside residents enter the Provisi...

Image via Wikipedia

Imagine living out in the middle of nowhere, 1000 kilometers from anywhere. Nothing to see but flat horizon all around.  A few prefab huts… and a slender steel ribbon disappearing in both directions, your only link to places east and west. Every day or so the behemoths trundle past with their long trail of passengers and cargo, but they don’t stop. Once a week, however, your train comes, and your small collection of neighbours gathers and becomes a village marketplace as the mini community restocks, banks, and collects mail from the Tea and Sugar train.

It was good to poke around the engines and carriages of this piece of history at the Port Adelaide Railway Museum.

-31.911079 115.772731

Nashville Pilgrim’s Progress – the beginning

26 Saturday Jul 2008

Posted by wonderingpilgrim in churches of christ, nashville, restoration movement, Stone-Campbell

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

churches of christ, nashville, travel

Right – just found a place that seems able to connect with my little Asus eee, so here’s the prequel to the above.- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –>

  1. How to kill time in transit at the vast Changi air

    terminal – although kill’s probably not the right word. When you’ve got five hours freedom from being straight jacketed in economy class for 22 hours, transit is a gift. “People watching” one pamphlet suggests. I found a place in this spread out city of terminals where there were no people to watch – just a spot to relax and unwind – lots of wide open spaces here – you have to hunt them down though. This photo is taken on the elusive third deck of Terminal 3.

  2. Taipei – an unexpected stop where we disembarked,went through another security check and re-boarded. It was 2300 after an 0500 start. The 2 hour journey across x time zones and the date line then commenced. Tried to catch some zeds but was woken twice for meals even though I wasn’t taking them. Fully crowded flight.

  3. Los Angeles. Border protection! What an experience – a frantic cranky pressing crowd from several international flights all pressed together and being herded along gangways, tunnels and through doors into something like sheep races. (Remember that scene from Crocodile Dundee?) My attempts at courtesy were met with scornful derision by some and open mouthed bewilderment by others. The accepted custom seems to be “Mind your own business” and don’t respond to another’s distress. This was noticeably the case when a small Asian woman was trying to grab her elusive bag from the carousel – which seemed much higher than most. It was making it’s third circuit when I lunged and grabbed it for her. She was grateful but the surrounding crowd stared like stunned mullets as if this was an audacious action. Perhaps they thought I was going to run off with it! I also let a group of Spanish speaking people in front of me because they were separated from each other and somewhat agitated. The lady immediately behind me berated my action, saying it would have been nice if I had had the manners and magnamity to let her in as well. I apologised and responded that, if she was part of the group, she was quite welcome to go before me. Even if she was not. I stood aside to allow her ahead. She refused and said nothing more. The immigration interview was an abrupt, “What is the purpose of your visit?… How long are you staying?… bye bye!” About 50 minutes altogether which wasn’t bad considering the large crowd, many of whom were having trouble filling out the immigration forms through lack of English. Thanks to Google Maps and Street View, I already had the route to my overnight stay imprinted on my brain. It was a healthy 30 minute walk from the terminal. Great stretch of the legs! Great bed! Great breakfast!

  4. People watching. Unavoidable on return to LAX for Nashville connection. The world passes through this place. An hour’s wait at check-in did not pass without interest – the prolific amount of Spanish spoken – the paparazzi chasing celebrities who most vehemently do not want to be photographed, Rastafarians on skateboards, uniformed folk shouting at crowds of confused looking travelers, too-late commuters banging on terminal observation glass trying to get their departing aircraft to return. Everyone speaks loudly announcing their conversations for all to hear. The obesity issue is notably common.

  5. Tipping. Not sure how this works but I’ve done it twice – the bloke who delivered my breakfast and the shuttle baggage handler. $5 a piece and the response was generous. A lot of these jobs are at minimum wages and tips are the only way that those in the service industry – mostly immigrants – can keep body and soul together. For the traveler, the cost of living seems to be cheaper here when one does the exchange calculations so I think it’s a win/win situation. (Later note – the tipping left for the chambermaid at my Nashville stay was refused – so go figure!)

  6. Through the Looking Glass. I thought my feeling of disorientation was due to jet lag. I’m now convinced that it’s due to the effect of “opposites.” It’s all pervasive. The traffic drives on the opposite side and the pedestrian flows echo it. Light switches are “upside down.” Hot and cold water taps are reversed. Whereas GST is included in the advertised price at home, here it is added on – necessitating keeping an internal calculator in one’s head. It grants me a new appreciation of what newcomers to our own shores must experience as old yet benign habits are continually challenged.

  7. Nashville – with what first impressions shall I compare thee? Right now I’m thinking Ballarat – a large busy country town with a lot of history and ambience – but rather than gold it’s country music (another kind of gold) that puts this place on the map. My room looks out on the Union Station Hotel – a grand old building from the early 1900s when Nashville was more famous as a rail hub. An African-American man (who worked for a company called “Driving Miss Daisy”) offered me a ride from the airport for $20. Travel weariness had set in and I wasn’t in the mood to hunt down a hotel shuttle and I thought it a good price so agreed. The conversation and local knowledge was worth it. After settling in I ventured out at dusk to find a bite to eat – just a snack. The only thing that looked open was McDonald’s and it was actually closing (yes, I know, hard to imagine!) Lots of down and outers around. I must have seemed like one because the young man behind the gas station counter offered to pay the extra 20 cents for my $5.20 turkey sandwich and drink. Off to bed now – three whole days in one place with time to soak in! (Later note – went back to the Golden Arches the next day about 6pm thinking to get a light salad having had an Angus beef sub with trimmings for lunch. Ordered a South West Premium Salad thinking it would be the modest size of those served back home. Well this is super-size country and it came with deep grilled chicken on a huge dinner plate. One can eat quite well here on a very modest budget.)

  8. Downtown comes alive. Around mid-afternoon, every delicatessen, beer-hall, bar and eatery in the “honky-tonk” strip begins to vibrate with all the genres of live country music. I shoved my way past about ten places in a row that were filling up with people to listen to the live performances – and that was before hitting the 2nd Avenue entertainment strip.

  9. Met up with Clive and Cherryl today we were soon drenched in a good ol’ Tennessee thunderstorm. Some java coffee in an old icecream parlour sorted us out. Later visited the Country Music Hall of Fame a masterpiece of modern architecture that showcased the development and rise of country music in elegant style. Just as elegant was the more classically styled music conservatory alongside, not in competition, but as complimentary. a harbinger, perhaps of the diverse streamscoming together for this convention.

 

 

Captain’s Log

17 Saturday Feb 2007

Posted by wonderingpilgrim in Personal, pilgrimage, travel

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travel

Day 1

Fair sailing along the Mundaring –Kalgoorlie Pipeline, then to Norseman. Traversing dry wheat country where the signs of encroaching salt are ominous, then the goldfields. Coolgardie, with its wide streets and grand buildings, is practically a ghost town these days – 750 kms

Day 2

Swift passage through a lonely stretch to Eucla. Amazing inventiveness of crew as they played “I Spy” most of the way – 700 kms.

 

Day 3

Another lonely stretch. At Nundroo we encountered a “come aboard” request from an elderly aboriginal man with whom I had struck up a conversation. A dilemma as we were loaded to the gunwhales and there was no room – but what of our “hospitality” claim? We were assured at the roadhouse that he was well cared for, so drove on to Ceduna,
Cooling off at the end of Ceduna’s jetty we encountered a fellow voyager intent on mustering his teenage crew in counting the planks on the deck. First mate Jenny obliged by pulling out a tape measure to ascertain the width of the plank to aid whatever maths they were working on! – 500 kms.
Day 4

A shorter run across Eyre Peninsular to Port Augusta. Some interesting diversions, such as Wirulla’s inland seaport and the world’s greatest galah at Kimba. Accommodation along the way has been surprisingly good, as we only booked basic. At Port Augusta this included Foxtel and a spa! Pays to travel off-peak. 400 kms.

Day 5

An easy run into Adelaide along a busy road. Flagged down by a becalmed vessel towing a barge (car & caravan). His phone wasn’t working and mine had been cooked by the Nullarbor’s heat. Drove ahead and phoned for help. GPS helped us negotiate some new roads to Mum’s place. Saturday afternoon – an hour left to stock up supplies and head for our week’s digs at Semaphore. ATM denied access to our account and shredded Jenny’s card. 24 hour help line told us to wait until business hours on Monday. Other account inaccessible due to clash odf monthly clearing with public holiday resulting in six day delay. Strange feeling to be stranded in one’s hometown cashless and wondering what’s happened to one’s treasure chest. Booked into caravan park anyway as we had prepaid accommodation. Desk informed us we had overpaid and refunded $170 cash! Jehovah Jireh!

Days 6-13

Shore leave and visits with friends and family. Bank sorted out its “human error” and accounts restored. Climaxed with induction of my nephew, Mark Riessen, as team leader at Blackwood, one of Adelaide’s leading churches. A big load for a 30 year old, but I believe Mark’s up to it!

Days 13-17

Set sail for Melbourne with overnight anchorage at Horsham. With new tollways and freeways to negotiate, very glad of GPS. Several days rubbernecking – Federation Square and the holy of holies, Melbourne Cricket Ground, seemed to be the highlights. Coracle in dry dock to scrape the barnacles and be fitted for return journey. Replaced fan-belt and some sections of the exhaust system. Jenny and Lachlan finally left for Perth on big bird, leaving me alone for the first time in almost three weeks. Only for half an hour! Met long ago colleague Peter Nelson at airport and immediately promoted him to First Mate as coracle set out for CCTC Centennial Symposium.

Days 17-20

The symposium and the Class of ‘74 re-union are deserving of separate entries. See blog entries to follow for my reflections on issues raised at the symposium. The Class of ’74 stuff is intelligible only to those who were there and they will be contacted with the address for ongoing conversations.

Day 21

The beginning of a solo return. I detour through Kyneton, my old stamping ground as a student minister way back in ’73 and ’74. The old church has gone and its flock is mostly part of the great communion of saints by now. I have a different reason for being here, however, and that is to spend some hours with a colleague from my Canberra days (1979-1986). He has been in ministry with the Uniting Church in latter decades and has taken early retirement because of the effect of a brain tumour. He and his wife are building a home here, just a street over from where his daughter and her husband’s young family are living. The tumour affects the speech centre of the left hemisphere, manifesting mostly in diminished access to vocabulary. He remains ardently enthusiastic about his capacity for music, however, and looks forward to what he can contribute to the local parish in this area. His enthusiasm and positivity remain as inspiring as ever.

Day 25 – the penultimate.

The little white coracle has done well. I’m ensconced in a nondescript motel room in Cooolgardie. The 3000 kilometres of the last four days have passed benignly, with mild weather and little traffic. Another 600 kms and I’m home.

Today God challenged my generosity. It had to happen – given the combination of the coracle prayer, the aforementioned encounter with the aboriginal man from Nundroo, and the fact of the inspiring generosity of fellow pilgrims. About 40 kms west of the Caiguna roadhouse, camped by the roadside, was a young couple with car and trailer. The man waved me down, seeking a lift to Norseman. His ultimate destination was Esperance, but I wasn’t going there. He told me en route that they had run out of money, food, and petrol and that he had the prospect of selling some goods (in his bag) when he reached Esperance. He could then return to the campsite, collect his wife and car and trailer and resume his journey. The next roadhouse was Balladonia, about two hours away. I cashed him up to buy a can of petrol to get him back to Caiguna and fill up enough to get them all to Esperance as well as buy some food. He offered me a ring that he had hoped to hock, but I said, “That looks special – you should keep it.”

This is uncharacteristically un-miserly of me. I am naturally suspicious of hard-luck stories – unfortunately they are an occupational hazard. But I was not in my occupational mode, he had no expectations or requests other than a ride as far as I could take him, and the initiative came from heavily insistent internal prods that I could not ignore, particularly in the light of an extraordinary generous gesture by one of my acquaintances just before we embarked on this whole journey.

Last night I read some of the latest copy of reo that I had saved on my laptop. It was from an essay by Lucas Taylor dealing with the theme of “gift” in John’s gospel. One point he made was to the effect of how pure gift – that is, gift with no strings attached, no expectation of reciprocation – subverts economic order and vice versa.

The notion of economy extinguishes the beauty of creativity (the bringing into existence
of something for its own sake, regardless of pay off) and ultimately breeds suspicion of every
gift— where are the strings? What is the catch? What are the expectations contingent on
me through the act of receiving this gift? The notion of existence as economy extinguishes
innocence and wonder.

Taylor, Lucas, ‘At the Well: Gift as Witness to Triune Reality in John’s Gospel’ in reo: a Journal of Theology and Ministry, Issue 31, 2007:1

Perhaps these words motivated my senseless and prodigal act of generosity. It felt like grace and amazingly light not having to go through my usual routine of questioning and lining up some form of accountability only to eke out some paltry sum that satisfies neither donor nor recipient but satisfies some law of economics.

If the whole trip, with all its stimulation and rich encounters, afforded only this reflective experience, it will have been worth it!

Day 26

Home and the coracle is berthed. I will soon be back in harness.

The beginning of a 7000 km voyage

22 Monday Jan 2007

Posted by wonderingpilgrim in churches of christ, Ministry, pilgrimage

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travel

nd this is the barque. It’s a land voyage, of course… and it will take us across the continent and back – first to Adelaide to spend some catch-up time with my extended family – and then to Melbourne – a few days sightseeing with Jenny & Lachlan (who, in his memory, has never been to the really big smoke) and then my alma mater’s Centennial celebrations – not to mention my Grad year re-union – some 32 years on!

We’ve dubbed the barque “the white coracle” – inspired by TheCoracle@yahoogroups.com and hinting at the Celtic legend of St Brendan who launched his small round vessel to the unknown directions of the winds and currents, entrusting all to God’s keeping. While we have planned our destinations it is unknown what the long stretching road will hold for us, and we remain open to whatever occurs along the way. The barque, a 9 year old Falcon Station Wagon, is as ready as it can be. I’ve made the token effort of ensuring we have the requisite spare parts on board and am trusting in our charts and GPS to keep us on track – a far cry from St Brendan’s equipment, I know – but we still cannot deny the sense of excitement and apprehension at what the next few weeks hold. Following is the prayer composed for the occasion and mounted on the dashboard.

od bless and protect this white coracle

and those whom it carries

Chart its journey

Guard its strength and its safety

as it travels swiftly to the destinations

You have appointed.

Bless the land it traverses

The suburbs of the large metropolis

The parched crop growing paddocks

The scrubby mineral bearing donga

The ancient dream-time country

Dry deserts and fruit-bearing hills

Protect from bushfire, flood and drought

May this coracle greet the stranger along the way

with hospitality and welcome

and be gracious in receiving same.

In the name of the Holy One

who guided his children

through the wilderness

to the Promised Land

In the name of the Redeemer

who had nowhere

to rest His head.

In the name of the empowering Spirit

who, like the wind,

blows where He wills.

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