The Road to Daly Waters

When I look back on the hundreds of photographs I took on a recent road trip, from Melbourne to Darwin (up the Stuart Highway), I’m impressed by the huge numbers of shots I have of blurry vegetation taken from a moving car window. It says something I think, about my determination to try and capture the essence of this vast, unending Australian outback landscape.

That was back in July – just four months ago – but still, the images of stark white tree trunks, dry creek beds, sage green saltbush, termite mounds, burnt-out roadsides and a very particular kind of solitary vastness, are stuck fast in my memory. I have painted a good number of paintings since the trip (www.bluetumb.com.au/adrienne-rewi), inspired by my lasting impressions; but words have been harder to channel. Some places have been easier to write about than others. One of those is Daly Waters.

Devil's Marbles

Devil's Marbles

My Australian friend Leanne (who lives in Christchurch, New Zealand), flew across to do this trip with me. We hired a new, crazy orange Holden Commodore and we hit the road. One of her express wishes was, that we stay at least one night in a classic Aussie pub. Daly Waters Historic Pub seemed ‘on paper,’ to fit that bill. So on Day Nine of our trip, we left Devil’s Marbles at around 8am after a dawn walk around those magnificent boulders and headed north, bound for Daly Waters, which sits 916km north of Alice Springs in the Northern Territory and 620km south of Darwin.

Daly Waters Historic Pub

 As we were to discover, calling Daly Waters a town is something of a stretch. The 2016 Census listed just 9 permanent inhabitants and essentially ‘town’ is just a fancy name for the roadhouse, which in turn, is just a fancy name for the Daly Waters Historic Pub, which was originally built as a supply point for drovers and (according to the sign), holds the longest continuous liquor licence in Northern Territory, dating back to 1893. The current building was built in the late 1920s.

I talk a lot about the vast emptiness of the outback and that is certainly a lasting impression. But in truth, these wide-open spaces are filled with a minutiae of detail. When I read back on the detailed, illustrated journal I kept throughout the trip, I read about roadside trees filled with flocks of zebra finches; fast trucks and slow camper vans; the sobering remains of crashed cars; the sad looking Brahmin cattle herds hanging around dry creek beds lined with red rocks and white gums; large mesa away in the distance, still huge despite the distance.

I recall the vast array of roadkill, struck down by passing road trains and tourist vehicles – the dehydrated cattle carcasses, kangaroo, birds of prey; and the ever-changing parade of road signs for places like Tennant Creek, Threeways Roadhouse, Banka Banka Station, Bootu Creek, Attack Creek and Churchill’s Head Rock. And I’m reminded of the weird little roadhouse settlements we passed every few hundred kilometres, which set us to wondering why anyone would want to live in such an unforgiving landscape.

 I remember Elliott, population 350, which was established during WWII as a staging camp for troops heading north. It distinguished itself in my memory for its tumbles of pink and white bougainvillea, it scattering of unkempt houses and its For Sale advertisement for a black leather couch, $500 and its “large range of tyres.” We topped up the petrol tank there – as we did at almost every roadhouse along the way – and we noted the large flock of red-tailed black cockatoo in nearby trees.

It was almost 2.30pm before we finally drove in to Daly Waters. It was 25-degrees (in mid-winter) and I was instantly captivated by the huge scarf of pink bougainvillea cascading over the pub roof and verandah. Every man and his dog seemed to be enjoying its shade as they swigged back their cool drinks and icecreams.

Forget the dusty red ‘main road’ and all the filth that comes with that, I homed straight in on the bunches of bananas hanging off the palms by the pub’s main door, the pink and white flowering frangipani, the giant jacaranda pods hanging off trees, the giant cacti and the rowdy crowds of people and apostle birds.

The pub staff were an unexpected treat – all handsome young men from foreign countries – Poland, Brazil, Germany and the like - young backpackers paying their way I guess; and the pub’s now-famous interior was packed with memorabilia and a somewhat shabby collection of women’s bras hanging off the ceiling. Apparently women have been hanging up their bras here since the 1980s. It doesn’t bear thinking about really and at no point during our stay did I feel quite frivolous enough to add to the collection.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Daly Waters for me, was the camping ground – packed to the gills with expensive camping vehicles. The Grey Nomads as they’re called here in Australia – (often but not always) retired couples who have cashed up and taken to the roads of Australia. You see them in their thousands on the outback highways during the Australian winter, which quite frankly, is the ONLY time you’d want to visit Central Australia. The temperatures here in summer (40-degrees C plus), make the idea of travelling too appalling to even think about.

Some seem to settle in for weeks at a time. The ‘hairdresser’ for instance, worked her hair magic during the day then appeared to have a part-time job at the pub at nights, serving customers their dinners. I could think of worse ways to travel a country.

We chatted with a young couple from Melbourne, who were sitting in the cool evening air outside their elaborate camper van.

“We’ve been on the road for two weeks, so we’re only just cracking into it,” announced the man, proudly, perching his beer can on his large, black-singleted belly.

I could relate to that. We’d only been on the road for nine days and it felt like we were “just cracking into it” too.

I still feel rather fondly towards Daly Waters. There was a certain quirky ‘holiday magic’ about the place that drew me in. The mad array of people, the live country music night, the Beef’n’Barri (Barrimundi) barbecue (with salads and the schnitzels that Aussies seem to be particularly fond of), the tropical plants, the variety of bird life – and all the other things we never even got o explore in the interests of an early night and an early start for Katherine the next morning. But that’s a whole other story.

Armadale, Melbourne – Victoria

When you stand in High Street, Armadale – constantly written about as the epitome of contemporary style and one of Melbourne’s premier blue chip areas – it’s hard to imagine it when it was first settled in the 1850s. Back then, it comprised market gardens and nurseries with a few housing allotments against a bush backdrop.

History notes that it wasn’t until the 1880s, that the boom years came with the first trains into the area. Then, the land was sub-divided for commercial and residential development and by 1890, High Street was populated by bootmakers, tailors, dressmakers, milliners, wheelwrights, blacksmiths, green grocers, upholsterers, iron mongers and the like – a far cry from today’s stylish fashion boutiques and the plethora of Persian rug shops, antique stores, nail and hair boutiques and bridal parlours that line the main Armadale thoroughfare; and the millions of dollars’ worth of high-end cars that park there.

I stayed in Armadale in December 2017-January 2018. I drove into the cool, leafy, tree-lined residential streets, parked my car outside the villa where I was staying and spent the next three weeks walking and photographing. I fell in love with so much of the residential architecture – the huge old homes that lined the streets – usually tucked away behind trees and high brick walls and impenetrable gates – but just enough visible to pique my interest and set me wondering about some other grand lifestyle.

I slipped over into neighbouring Toorak – long recognised as Melbourne’s top suburb – and into adjoining Malvern, Hawthorne and Prahran; all of them known for their expensive real estate. And in every street, I found a house that, externally at least, set me to dreaming and to wondering what it might be like inside.

I’ve always loved big houses and it was only a matter of time before I found a way to explore further – albeit via a computer. Turns out it’s relatively easy to get a glimpse inside many of these enormous, multi-million dollar homes – you just look the address up on the Internet and if they’ve been sold within the last decade, there’s usually a record of transactions, often with real estate photographs supplied. Much less satisfying than an actual house tour but enough to give you a hint of the interior of a $14-million home you wouldn’t otherwise see inside. And yes, I did feel like a nosy pauper – but only for a very short time.

Contrary to (my) expectations, Armadale is also a suburb of apartment blocks – new and old. Its proximity to central city has always made it a popular place to live and I liked the way apartment blocks of all ages sat comfortable and appropriately, side-by-side with top-dollar houses – integrated, appealing.

 Armadale is sited 7 kilometres southeast of Melbourne’s central business district on what was once part of Wurundjeri land. The 2016 census indicated a population of around 9,000 residents; and it was named after Armadale Sutherland, in Scotland, where the 15^th Premier of Victoria, James Munro was born.

It’s a pleasant place to be – from a residential point of view; but the neighbour’s don’t seem that neighbourly nor trusting, tucked away as they are behind their impenetrable high walls and gates with security cameras and microphones to see ‘who’s knocking.’ I guess it’s one way to keep unsolicited ‘doorknockers’ away from your actual door. 

And I certainly did feel  SECURE.

But there’s also something about the pristine, rigidly maintained streets and sections that left me cold. For all the fabulous old architecture, for all the high fashion, expensive, designers, bridal boutiques, antiques (expensive) and posh restaurants, I found these wealthy suburbs lacking in character -  no graffiti to speak of, no rough edges, very few book shops, no grunge, no mess....it's all a bit sanitised for me and my photographic eye. I prefer places that are bit more rough around the edges. Places more ordinary.

Places that encourage people to lives with gusto and colour.

Geelong – Victoria

I’d wanted to visit Geelong for a long time – at least five years in fact – but on every visit to Melbourne, there was always some reason for delaying the trip.

But now, six months in to living in Central Victoria, I have finally made it. I drove there about two weeks ago, despite the fact that I hadn’t heard a lot of praise for the place. Most comments were along the lines of “I’ve never found anything there to recommend it,” or, “It’s solid working class and filled with football freaks,” said someone else.

But when another person told me it was “still pleasantly grungy – not yet fashionable or pretentious,” I decided a trip was definitely warranted.

And having met a young solo mother with two kids, holding down three jobs and studying at Geelong’s Deakin University, and thereby making the 1.5-hour drive twice a week for lectures, I decided I‘d need a better excuse for NOT going than, ‘I never find the time.’

Plus I had a mission. I wanted to catch the last days of “Fred Williams in the You Yangs,” an exhibition at Geelong Art Gallery. Several people have asked if my painting has been influenced by Fred Williams, but as I’d never heard of him (I’m ashamed to say), until three months ago, I decided I’d better find out what he was all about.

[As an aside, No, my work hasn’t been influenced by him and any very tiny similarity in SOME of my paintings, is purely coincidental].

For anyone else who has never heard of Fred Williams (1927-1982), he was an unassuming-looking man – a major Australian artist - who is said to have changed the way the Australian landscape could be painted and seen “in resolutely abstract terms, yet powerfully recognizable by viewers as quintessentially of Australia.”

His work in the You Yangs (a fascinating granite-covered landscape about 20km north of Geelong), began in 1962 and continued through to the late 1970s, encompassing everything from sketches and notes to drawings, prints, gouaches and large scale oil paintings.

I loved them all. I sat in front of them in a quiet gallery for a long time, taking in the meditative quality of his abstract hieroglyphics – like exquisite little bird scratchings in oil paint; and so very evocative of the Australian landscape.  It was peaceful after the hustle and bustle of the Archibald Prize Gallery next door, where every man and his dog had arrived to look at the finalists and winners. They were literally pouring in by the bus load.

The Archibald Prize is awarded annually to the best portrait, 'preferentially of some man or woman distinguished in art, letters, science or politics, painted by any artist resident in Australasia’.

The Archibald Prize was first awarded in 1921. In establishing the prize, J.F Archibald’s aim was to foster portraiture as well as support artists and perpetuate the memory of great Australians. Over the years some of Australia’s most prominent artists have entered and the subjects have been equally celebrated in their fields.

I was particularly taken by the Nicholas Harding portrait of Australian artist, John Olsen, Anh Do’s portrait of Aboriginal actor, Jack Charles, and by Andrew Lloyd Greensmith’s work, “The Inner Stillness of (102-year-old) Eileen Kramer (above).

Beyond the art gallery, I spent some time driving the streets of inner Geelong getting a feel for the place. Geelong is a port city, located in Coria Bay, 75km south-west of Melbourne. It is Victoria’s second largest city, with a population of around 192,393.

In October this year, it became one of the 180 world-wide cities to be part of UNESCO’s Creative Cities Network. The designation recognises the design history of Geelong and surrounds, from the region’s Aboriginal heritage to its history in textiles and wool production; automotive design and manufacturing to designs that have revolutionised surf culture. It also celebrates innovations currently being made across the region in advanced manufacturing and virtual reality.

You need time to discover a lot of that I suspect, as it’s not immediately evident on a quick one hour drive. The shops were mostly ordinary at first glance, in buildings old and new; there seemed to be a proliferation of Asian restaurants, numerous tattoo parlours, pubs and Pokies places.

That said, I quickly discovered some beautiful old houses and inner city buildings. The new Geelong Library and Heritage Centre (beside the Art Gallery) (above), is striking for its geodesic dome. It was designed by ARM Architecture of Melbourne and opened in November 2015.

By comparison, the huge Geelong Government Building across the road surprises with its overt Brutalist architecture (also above).

And then there is the wonderful palm-lined esplanade, alive with walkers and cyclists –definitely a jewel in the city’s crown I’d say. With its multitude of cafes and restaurants, landscaped gardens, public art, kids’ play and swimming areas, enclosed sea baths, the restored historic carousel, it’s a major attraction for locals and visitors alike.

And then there are the quirky bollards – over 100 of them that are located in around 48 different spots along the promenade. They’re the work of local artist Jan Mitchen, who was commissioned by the City of Greater Geelong to transform old timbers and piles from a city pier that was demolished in the 1980s, into works of art. It must have been a mammoth undertaking but one well worth it. They give the whole area a great sense of fun and colour.

It was a fleeting visit but it did confirm one thing for me –another trip south, probably an overnighter – is definitely on the cards in early 2018.