I have reserved today to visit the Darwin Show, which we
would call the County Fair. My particular interest are the animals, and perhaps
the crafts exhibitions. Regarding the latter, I want to buy for Ronnie a
genuine boomerang, and what better place to get it than at the show, where
aboriginal artisans are glad to show their crafts and share some of the ways in
which they are made.
Of course there would be fine specimens of cattle, pigs, and
sheep, but the real uniqueness of the show would be the displays of the best
specimens of kangaroos and crocodiles. Kangaroos are a source of meat, and as I
described elsewhere the meat is tasty, a little sweet, and not gamey at all. Of
course kangaroos are the native species best suited to deal with the dry
climate of Australia, and they have no problem reproducing in captivity.
Besides they can be a source of milk, butter, and cheese. Farmers being farmers,
I delighted in anticipation on the fight demonstrations (a natural behavior of
kangaroos, who from early age learn to exchange blows with each other), the
jumping contests, and the herding demonstrations of the most important working
dog, the Australian Shepherd.
Crocodile farmers are a more scrappy lot. They raise
sweetwater crocs for their meat because in two or three years they grow to a teenage-size
of 3 to 4 meters. On the darker side of the trade they sell the blanched skulls
and totally creepy hands (I can well imagine the response of the US Customs
officers if I were to land in SFO with a crocodile hand… yeach!). They may also
raise a few saltwater crocs for periods of up to 5 years for the sake of using
their skins on tougher merchandise such as cowboy boots (I believe the softer
and more pliable skin of sweetwater crocs is best suited for wallets or dress
shoes). The industry is looked at with disdain by aborigines and eco-minded
folks, but for your average red-neck Australian crocs make for great fun in
jumping competitions (jumping straight up out of a water tank to reach a
dangling piece of meat), and in races, where two or three crocks race to reach
a rapidly retreating piece of meat.
It would have been great to have seen all these marvels, but
the truth is that I didn’t because the dumb show was held only on Friday and
Saturday, and by the time I got there on Sunday morning all I saw were the
stragglers and rather limp cleaning crews. So don’t believe anything of what I
described in the first three paragraphs, which are completely the product of my
imagination and disappointment.
Well rats! What am I going to do with myself today? I drove
around aimlessly for a while, looking at parts of the city I had not seen
before, but being Sunday the place is rather bland and boring (Saturday night
is big party time, so I suspect that half of the population is sleeping off the
hangover). I went back to the seashore, where I found a path down the
porcelanite cliffs that took me into the Doctor’s Gully, named after the doctor
in one of the early expeditions, who found a good spring in this gully that for
years provided for the fresh water needs of the population. Not surprisingly
the gully hosts a luxurious abundance of plants and trees.
My meandering brought me to Mindil Beach, which is the
gathering place for the sun lovers of Darwin. It was deserted, probably because
it is a bit too sunny and hot, but the Farmers Market was setting up, so I bet
the afternoon is going to be quite lively.
Eventually I made it to the botanical garden, where at least
I could walk in the shadow of the trees to escape the heat of the day. I guess
it must be a botanist dream to work in a place like this, but to the normal
person one green tree pretty soon starts to look like … what the ****? … just
around a bend I have literally stumbled upon a colony of giant baobabs. The
baobab is the strangest tree in the world, and to see several of them assembled
together is like meeting an army of giants, each with three or four tiny heads
on top of their enormous bodies. You do remember, don’t you, that one of the
greatest concerns of The Little Prince was to weed his tiny planet at least
once a day, to make sure that one of those weeds wouldn’t grow into an enormous
baobab tree that would take over the whole planet. Remind me to show you a
photo of this unusual tree, which I have also encountered in Madagascar and, of
all places, in a tiny island off the coast of Rio de Janeiro.
So that was my day. A bit surreal and with lots of free time
to sit under a baobab and ponder the true meaning of life.
P.S. I finally made it to the airport around 9 pm, for the 1
am flight to Sydney. Being there so early I thought it would be safe to take a
little nap, so I set my alarm to sound at the time boarding was supposed to
start (I live in fear of missing my flight since that happened to me 20 years
ago and had to spend an extra night in Portland, Oregon). But you know how it
is with boarding, which is always delayed by 10, 20, or 30 minutes, so after
waking up when the alarm sounded I sat groggily for about 5 minutes and
promptly fell asleep again. I didn’t wake up until I heard the announcement
THIS IS THE LAST CALL FOR QANTAS FLIGHT TO SYDNEY. I woke up slowly, stretched
and yawned, and approached the counter only to find out I was the only
passenger going to Sydney. Wow, I wonder how they can keep this route open if
it is so unpopular. I walked down the gangway and stepped into a completely
full airplane! 200 pairs of eyes watched me angrily as I sundered onto my seat,
buckled on, and promptly fell asleep again.
No comments:
Post a Comment