Holy Walls

Stone can move us. It's heaviness stands for the burden we feel history does or should impose upon us. The cracks make us feel mortal. They remind us we are doomed. It is with a giddy solemnity that we approach such stones and lay our hands on their cool surfaces. Stone runs deep.

The holy city has a wall. The people live around it, on top of it, absorbing its deep, silent breathing.

This wall is idolized. We come here to feel like ants, a whole tribe of us. We revel in how big it is, and how much we don't understand.

The holy city is riddled, divided, supported and protected by walls. Walls which spark our imagination, playing on passion and fear. Wrapped in a blanket of stone, we still can't sleep. Instead, some pray. Others don't.

The Most Beautiful Place In The World

The Mediterranean.

The colour of blood in a vein. Deep below. Quiet above. Serene.

... but not always.


Now lashing, now violent. But still - always - renders you without speech, quiet, and reflective. The waves batter the ancient cobblestones and throw spray up from the rocks, and it drifts in a mist past your face bringing the smell of salt and onshore winds.

When the sun is rising, you feel young. When it beats down from above, you are blinded by its whiteness, by its sharp rendering of buildings in crisp colours. The air feels like it would heal you inside.


Looking down through a fence of wood and wire, stepping over blackberry and grape vines and signs of 'Privato', crunching the dry gravel path, you are exulted. It's the heavy beat of your heart and the sun refracting in the beads of sweat on your forehead that have done it.


You are pulled ever upwards by the smell of pine needles. Beneath a tree on a crumbling cliff, cheese and bread is amazing. Time passes. An old man with a walking stick goes by. You nod. An hour later he comes back. He nods and smiles.


You start to think about coffee, the type you drink standing up at the bar in a cobbled square on a hilltop.



When the sun begins to set, the villages begin to sink into the earth, and the sea illuminates in sparkles.



Up in the hills there are hidden places.



It feels like Italy. It feels like it should be black and white.



This is a place where people can live and die.

Underwhelming, But Right

I just viewed a video on YouTube by Democrats Leader Lyn Allison, which attacks the stupidity of Howard's citizenship test. It's completely underwhelming, and she is anything but a sizzling media performer, but she is right.

Solo Man

Remember that ad? The guy who kayaked over a waterfall and then downed a can of Solo to recharge?

That's a good ad. They don't come like that any more...

I like being solo. I have time to think. I don't have to compromise. I do whatever I want, when I want to do it.

Here I am sitting beside a church on a hilltop behind Ljubljana.

Here I am at a cafe in Ljubljana (as you can guess, this posting is about me, me me!).

Here I am swimming in Lake Bled in Slovenia. It was a beautiful day. Warm, sunny and the water was so clear you could see the fish under the surface as clearly as the ducks on top.

I had a sudden urge to prove to myself that my body could withstand everything that the Solo Man's body could. I got two buses and a train to the Slovenian side of the Slovenia-Italy border. I then walked about 5 kilometres over the border, hitched to Gorizia, and there I am, tired but refreshed, at the train station. Who's the real Solo Man now?

Note: the bottle of Coke beside me in no way reflects on a lack of support on my part for the excellent people at Solo Inc., but rather a failure of the Italian railway system to provide Solo at the self-service vending machines at their stations.

Dark, Wagnerian Tragedy

So, I´m a romantic... Those days when the sky is heavy with rain make me broody and melancholic - in a good way. Better still if I´m travelling alone in Prague.

Verdi´s tragic opera La Traviata was the perfect complement.

A Word on ´Families´

I was just looking at some of the U-Tube clips from the Family First Party. I have one question for these idiots who say they speak for Australian families.

Who the FUCK isn´t a family?

Do they really mean to say they aim to represent everyone in Australia EXCEPT orphans? I mean, if they´re not going to come out and say they actually stand for conservative, Christian values (whatever that means) then at least they could come up with something less insulting to the intelligence of voters. But then, I guess that´s the point isn´t it?

...the stupidity of it all.

It Rained in Poland

Yes. I am still dazzled by the rain. Even after a week and a half of Polish drizzle, and a lot of dark, dark photographs...

It started out fine and European. We sipped coffee in the old town square. An old man was playing accordion, and there were pigeons...

Then things changed. The dark underbelly of Warsaw reared up. And truth be told, I liked it... The weather allowed for trudging the streets, watched always by Stalins monolithic Palace of Culture.

It also made for atmospheric photos in the massive old Jewish Cemetery, basically a forest littered with the silent standing crowd of thousands of worn gravestones.



It kept raining as I sat on the train to Auschwitz and Birkenau, feeling pretty apprehensive about how I would react to the site of one of the greatest crimes of modern history. In the cold and the wind and the steady rain, the horror of this place hit home - more than anything because it felt so... normal. Quiet. Peaceful. Neat. I was consumed by a mixture of sorrow and rage. Never again...






The most enduring memory I will have of Poland, however, is of the wonderful people I met. Thanks to all of you. This photo was taken on one of many raucous evenings in the capital.

Assholes Run My Country

Sorry, I will really attempt to never discuss politics again on this blog, but this article made me so angry!

The idea that potential immigrants will be excluded because they don't know who Walter Lindrum was (I don't hesitate to say that I had no idea...) is just absurd. And Donald Bradman? Listen Johnnie boy, not all of us have wet dreams over Bradman like you do! And who the HELL says that all Australians are 'sports crazy'? What about Australians who AREN'T?

It smacks of dumb stereotyping and dangerous exclusivism that can only exaggerate the already massive divisions within our (indeed any) society. This in turn provides a weak point to be exploited by unethical politicians who use fear of others to their advantage.

That bunch of old, conservative, socially regressive politicians who call themselves the federal Liberal Party represent only one small element of Australian society, and they have absolutely no right to define who is an Australian in this way. It is a travesty.

(if you disagree, feel free to comment...)

Feeling History in Latvia

35,000 Jews or more were killed in Latvia during the 2nd world war. I went to the Jews in Latvia Museum in Riga yesterday. These are some images of the beautiful stained-glass windows, and an original copy of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion.

These locks are fastened onto a bridge in a park in the center of Riga. Anyone care to translate?

This is just a nice image of a square in central Riga, with St Peter's church in the background.

Russia: Signing Off

My final two conclusions about Russia.

One: Russian people drink a lot. Here I am at the bus station waiting for my bus to Riga, Latvia. As you can see, everyone in the park is drinking. It was about 1 in the afternoon. This is usual.

Two: The hardship endured by the Russian people over their long history has obviously inspired great creativity. Russia inspired me to write this poem. It might not be finished yet... comments are requested.

It was the stark white trunks of those trees that did it.

Like bars of a prison

that was the whole world.

I thought I could find a way through.

On impulse, then

I threw myself from the window

of the rushing carriage,

which flickered and was gone.

And I, flying,

in a moment of pure aspiration,

saw the sky, and reaching out to touch it,

fell.

Okay, Russia Doesn't Really Suck... Why?

Russia doesn't really suck because it turns out there actually are some friendly Russians, even in Moscow! St Petersburg is in fact full of friendly Russians, and cultivates a healthy Melbourne-Sydney-type rivalry with the Muscovites.

Moscow also has some pretty exciting cultural elements, which of course I should have expected before dismissing this city of 12 million people in my earlier posting... (take this as an editorial revision). This is part of Moscow's underground music scene: a whole band set up in a pedestrian underpass one evening.

Russia also doesn't suck because St Petersburg is one of the most beautiful and elegant cities in the world. It resembles an old European city, but everything is just bigger. This is one of the magnificent and gargantuan historical buildings on Nevsky Prospect, the main drag of Petersburg.

Finally, Russia doesn't suck because it was home to some of the world's greatest cultural icons. Many of these are buried at a cemetery in Petersburg, and memorialised with graceful statues amongst the trees.

This woman brought tears to my eyes. Her posture is so serene and accepting of her fate.

The lines of this statue, elongated and pointing skyward, give him a refined and graceful air, especially given the dappled sunlight playing on his features.

These are the resting places and memorials for two of Russia's greats: Tchaikovsky and Dostoevsky.



This is just a very old and cool grave. It made me think of how in some ways memorialisation is futile in light of the inevitable advance of time and degradation. These thoughts have been encouraged by my continuing battle to comprehend Steven Hawking's 'A Brief History of Time'.