People of Melbourne V

Continuing the Melbourne people series - a series of images that highlight the current preoccupation with cell phone use and taking selfies. I wonder how all this self-obsession will be viewed fifty years from now?

Ballan, Victoria

When I drove into Ballan and saw the ‘Watch for Koalas’ sign in the middle of a residential neighbourhood, I knew I was going to like the place. Anyone who looks after these furry little Australian icons gets a pat on the back from me. However, it should be noted early on, that despite looking in every tree I passed, I never spotted a single koala myself.

My visit to this little town, 78 kilometres northwest of Melbourne, was a fleeting one – but not quite as fleeting as the first time I discovered it on a trip to Geelong a year before. I had liked the look of the place then, as I flashed through on my way south, but I didn’t have time to stop. And I was reluctant to visit during the searing hot summer because I had to drive through several forested areas to get there and I was apprehensive about bush fires.

 It was early when I arrived this time – around 9am. Not much was happening. The streets were quiet. I graciously blamed that on the hour of the day, although I suspect not a lot DOES happen in Ballan. It became obvious fairly quickly that it is something of a rural service town – one of those small places the farmers come to for their seeds and manures, their tractor repairs and such, followed by a quick nip into the local agents for a paper and perhaps a Lotto ticket, followed by a quick ale (and maybe a casserole lunch) at the local pub. And like most Aussie towns, Ballan certainly had more than one of those.

As a footnote to that paragraph, many of the farmers in the area are descendants of members of the Australian Defence Forces, who settled their families in the wider Ballarat district after the war.

I probably could have walked around the whole of the township in an hour or so but I chose to drive – after all, I had gauged fairly quickly that unless you had chosen to live there, Ballan wasn’t the sort of place that commanded a lingering visit. That said, it does have a clutch of wonderful old buildings and ‘wonderful old buildings’ always set my imagination to wondering about life in the early days – who lived there and why? How much they had paid to build their handsome dwelling, who lived in it now? Where did they work? Were they one of the hundreds who now commute to Melbourne by train to work every day?

Located near the Werribee River (I never even saw that!), Ballan was established in the 1830s when one Robert von Steiglitz settled in the area. He named the new town that sprang up in 1838, after Ballan in Ireland. Gold was discovered in 1851 and the town’s population more than doubled in the years thereafter. The Ballan Hotel in fact, dates back to that gold rush era.

The first Mechanics Institute was built in 1861 but the current building sits on land that was purchased in 1881 and the building, complete with a new 1922 façade, now houses a hall and library.

 There was another population boost in the 1980s and 90s and with that came new amenities – a hospital, new shops, schools, cafes and more. And by 2016, the Census reported a population of 2985. Whether it has declined or increased since then is hard to tell but there is a lot of new housing (suburbs of awfulness), so I suspect the trend for Melbournites to move out of the city to the quieter, cheaper confines of a small Victorian town on a main commuting line has continued here.

It seems though, that Ballan is a town large enough to have an industrial estate, AND a uniformed meter reader. And judging by the posters around town advertising groups and classes, a lot DOES go on here – from quilting groups and assorted other stitchery to fitness groups, community luncheons, baby groups, floral arranging (single session $50), Hatha yoga, art classes, high teas and belly dancing classes.

For all its quietness, there was something about Ballan that appealed to me – some intangible that ‘dwelt’ in the wide, tree-lined streets, the pretty old houses, the quaint old public buildings and the smiling residents – the few I saw at least. I might not choose to live there at this particular point in my life, but I would certainly visit again.

A Town Called Katherine

Katherine is a girl’s name. I know two people called Katherine, although one is called Kathy and the other is Catherine (with a C), usually called Cathy, or sometimes, by family members, Cate; so maybe they don’t count. And this story isn’t about Katherine, Kathy, Catherine, Cathy or Cate, it’s about a town called Katherine – a very hot, sunny place in Australia’s Northern Territory, 320km south-east of Darwin.

Ahead of my visit there in July as part of the 5,500km road trip my friend Leanne and I undertook, from Melbourne to Darwin, I’d been told it was a great place to base yourself for a few days.

“There’s plenty to see and do around there,” an exceptionally fit and adventurous rock climber told me.

I took a mental note and booked two night’s accommodation on the strength of his recommendation, hoping Leanne would be as unlikely as me, to want to go rock climbing.

So there we were, on Monday July 9, 2018, three hours after leaving Daly Waters, driving into Katherine on its wide approach, sweltering in 25-degrees. This was mid-winter remember and with its lush vegetation everywhere, it was easy to see why it’s often known as the place where the outback meets the tropics. The air felt different, much more humid; and I knew I was going to feel sticky and uncomfortable for the duration of my stay. I knew immediately there would be no rock climbing – in any way, shape or form – and that I would be actively seeking out the town’s best air conditioned retreats.

As it turned out, there weren’t a lot of those about, so with sunscreen, dark glasses and an old straw hat, I walked the streets of Katherine (it doesn’t take long), hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone I knew. You get a feel for a town that way – at street level, getting amongst it. You get to see how the locals go about the business of daily life – in this case, with hundreds of black kites (birds), circling overhead like starving vultures. The sky above the supermarket carpark in particular, was spotted black with hovering birds of prey. They’d obviously learned that human beings could be pigs when it came to throwing edible litter about.

When I think back to those two days, there isn’t much about the town itself that has lodged itself firmly in my memory – just a general sense of relaxed tropical living and the pleasure of being able to leave out bags unpacked for longer than 6 hours. I recall a few things strongly – the Aboriginal street art, the fish and chip shop topped with a large shark and the large numbers of Aboriginal people walking the streets, or sitting in friendly huddles on street corners or in the town’s parks.

 Katherine had a population of 6,300 in the 2016 Census but its first inhabitants were the Dagoman people, the Jawoyn and the Wardaman peoples. It remains a place of convergence for Aboriginal mobs and today the Walpiri People from the Victoria River District and Tanami Desert areas now have a dedicated community based at Katherine East.

I’m intrigued by Aboriginal culture – the ancientness of it and how after 40,000, 60,000 or 80,000 years in Australia (depending on which research paper you read), the indigenous people are still working hard to maintain strong ties to that culture. There’s no doubting that that has been an uphill battle since the arrival of the first Europeans here and I was saddened, not only in Katherine but also in Alice Springs, to witness a distressing amount of overt racism from white locals. When you remember that many indigenous people speak multiple languages and have survived in this sometimes savage climate for thousands of years without the aid of air conditioning, western medicine, vehicles or food retailers, I wonder why so many white Australians consider themselves superior.

Blue-Winged Kookaburra

Top of most people’s To See list in this area – and ours too – was the Katherine Gorge in Nitmiluk National Park.

 Everyone tells you the place is swarming with crocodiles – Leanne even got a text from her aunt in New York, warning us to keep our hands and bags well within the boat –and while “swarming with” may be an exaggeration, it is home to both freshwater and saltwater crocodiles; and when encountering any killer creatures with big teeth, I always like to err on the side of caution. I was more than willing to obey all the warning signs.

A convoy of tourist boats set off up the river and if you kept looking up at the amazing 1,650 million-year-old sandstone cliffs, you could pretend the others weren’t there. The tour explores the first three of the 13 gorges that run up the river. With rocky escarpments separating each of the gorges (except when the river is in flood), there’s a chance to disembark and walk to the next boat along well-maintained walkways, and to see a section of Aboriginal cliff art that has been estimated to be between 8,000 to 10,000 years old.

Nitmiluk means ‘Cicada Country’ for the Jawoyn people, who own the land in this area, and Nitmiluk Tourism, which runs the boating operation (which also includes helicopters, planes and a tourist lodge).

I learned a lot that day. That freshwater crocodiles (freshies to the locals) are light green and saltwater crocodiles (salties) are black; that freshies will swim away and salties will attack; that 46 different fish species call the gorge home and that the deepest part of the gorge is up to 30-metres and is home to the Rainbow Serpent.

It rains a lot in Katherine too apparently. A whole lot. And in 1998, the Katherine River came right up to the bottom of the railway bridge (above). The whole town was under 3metres of water, 1,200 people were evacuated and the military were called in to clean up after what was declared a state of emergency. That Australia Day (January 26, 1998), 220.8mm of rain fell in 24 hours, the river rose by 20.4 metres and more than 1,000 square kilometres was inundated, as torrential floodwaters hit the area, when the tail end of Cyclone Less fell in the Katherine River headwaters. Standing on that railway bridge, looking down into the deep ravine to the river below, it was a scary prospect to imagine.

Blue-Faced Honeyeater

When I’m travelling, getting photographs of the things that make an impact me –for all kinds of reasons – is one of my key goals. Not only does it help retain memories, photos also act as visual prompts for my writing and painting. So, after travelling over 4,100km by the time we got to Katherine, and passing thousands of green ants’ nests in the roadside foliage along the way and not getting a photo of a single one, I was unreasonably excited that in Katherine I finally committed these fascinating little insect creations to film. 

Then there were the pet wallabies that we held and fed (slices of fresh sweet potato) at an Aboriginal art gallery; the Katherine Museum that still had its open signs out but was apparently closed, with an officious lady owner who was determined that we would not get in. There were walks to several other art galleries; a leisurely amble up the main street; the memorable purchase of ‘the bird dress,’ and finally, our last hurray to Katherine - dinner at the local RSL- another new Aussie experience for me that came with a giant’s serving of lamb shanks and potato mash (and a menu filled with numerous schnitzel options).

Food for thought.