And he demonstrated this very surprisingly, by singing me an old folk song, to test whether or not this was the sort of music I would like.
And what a touching gesture! He stood very straight, looking directly at me, and without a shred of self-consciousness, sang beautifully, just for me. I found it hard not to fill up with tears, both at the song he sang and the loveliness of the gesture. Then he rummaged at the back of the shop, and brought out a boxed CD, making me understand that this had no words, just instruments, and that some of the music was very old. There was no pressure to buy; he seemed delighted that I had been interested and appreciative. After trying some of the tracks, I bought the CD for the usual astonishingly low price, and have played it many times since. The music it contains is very foreign indeed, and utterly beguiling; to my untrained ear it has no discernible links to Western music, and on hot sunny days like today, it's exactly right. And thanks to a lovely, open, Turkish boy in a tiny shop, it has to be the one of my best shopping experiences. HMV? No contest.
Home again. What a difference eight days make. Canberra has so many trees, and is now full of early autumn colour and very beautiful. A welcome contrast to the busy big-city traffic-choked experience of Melbourne, although our 8 days there were wonderful.
What a great city, Melbourne, despite the awful traffic fumes. Coffee-lovers/cake-devotees/shoe-shoppers of the world, Melbourne is for you. It certainly was for us, 7 pairs of new shoes (between us! Not all mine!) later. Not to mention all the cake. By the end of our stay and many rides on the free city circle tram to visit parks, galleries and museums, we understood the grid system of streets pretty well and were adept at not being flattened by trams; we must have looked confident, as we were often asked for directions, and were able to respond with impressive accuracy. This is not a skill I possess at home, I must say, where, with considerable vigour and imagination, I can seriously misdirect the gullible.
We decided against car hire and driving the Great Ocean Road, and booked a series of coach tours instead. Good move, as the drive would have entailed one of us taking great care on the twisty winding road, unable to look to left or right and cursing continuously, while the other spent time immersed in the guide book, looking up recommended spots to view and take photographs of this astonishing stretch of coastline, and muttering about feeling carsick. Instead, we sat high above the road and could eat Tim Tams while seeing for miles between our scheduled beauty spot stops. I am planning a series of Tim Tam Explosion tutorials when I get home; I'm amazed that this national craze has not reached Britain, and feel it my duty to spread the word.
We went to the Dandenongs, as awe-inspiring as their name, although it translates rather tamely as Tall & Lofty (ie trees). We visited Phillip Island and saw Little Penguins (yes, that's their name, and they really are little, like small, fat, navy blue and white skittles) emerging from the sea at nightfall, huddling nervously till large enough groups were formed to make them feel safe enough to cross the beach to their burrows in the sand dunes. They have a ferocious range of predators, so are right to feel nervous, but apparently tolerate hundreds of excitable humans watching them and following them along the boardwalk, providing a soundtrack which seems mostly to be in Mandarin. Loud Mandarin.
The sky was inky black, the stars entirely unfamiliar and just as breathtaking as the age-old ritual of the penguins' homecoming; I found that by standing still and looking up at them, I was suddenly joined by dozens of other people following my gaze. Power to influence crowds, wowee!
We then had the obligatory shopping experience before getting on the coach for a long drive back to the city. During my stay so far, I could, if I wished, have accumulated a lorryload of brightly coloured koala/kangaroo/penguin-themed souvenirs and given them to all my friends. Sadly, I am more self-disciplined in this regard than with shoes, so you can breathe a sigh of relief: you have been spared. All except Charlotte.
Enough of the travelogue for now; well, maybe a list of Lovely Sights to date:
- Koalas (not bears, Annie! marsupials)
- Kangaroos & wallabies galore
- Echidna (one, back view only; fat-bottomed)
- Platypus - in its platypusary at Healesville Sanctuary
- Emus and parrots/cockatoos/crimson rosellas by the dozen
- Wombat - one, snoozing, but impressive
- Dingos
- Gum trees/towering mountain ash
- Cake stalls
- Shoe shops
My suitcase, last spotted on March 27th, was delivered to Canberra Airport on April 5th, and reunited with me tonight. At last, a different set of clothes, and my slippers! And very very welcome emails from loved ones; thank you. This is a washing and repacking stopover only. To Tricia's family in their Sydney suburb tomorrow, Blue Mountains on Sunday, Sydney proper on Tuesday. Will the thrills ever cease? Will we become able to resist the fabulous Australian cakes? Watch this spot.
Today's plan was to get up early(ish) and go into town. I had birthday presents to buy, book tokens to spend, and maybe I could start my shopping for Australia. There's no way I could risk Customs with that ancient washbag!
But it just didn't come together. I got up feeling weak and feeble, found that nothing wearable was ironed, there was nothing nice for breakfast, and the idea of traipsing round the shops, even limiting myself to John Lewis, began to feel as appealing as hang gliding solo off Macchu Picchu. Just the sort of day where everything you touch in John Lewis gives you a nasty little shock of static electricity, and the trauma makes you forget everything you went in for.
What I would have liked was a friend to come over for coffee and a chat while idling through some nice out of date magazines and moaning half-heartedly about the state of our nails/double chins/pet-wrecked carpets and paintwork (the familiarity of this can be strangely uplifting) but my friends are all at work or have been retired long enough to feel the urge to go out doing good works in the parish. This is the downside of my a) being a bit older than most of them, and b) being retired a year early, and c) having no intention to do anything in the parish yet that looks remotely like work. (Notice the 'yet' - that's so that you don't think I'm totally feckless.)
So I went to Sainsbury's instead, unimaginative but necessary, and stocked up on nice fruit and yoghurt, as well as a pack of hot cross buns, enticed into the latter by Posy. I think that I'm having a delayed mope because the Lovely Son has gone back to London. The dog does her moping at the window as we set off for the station, and is back to her chipper little self by the time I return alone, but it takes me a little longer. Two hot cross buns and a cup of tea have helped, though chipper isn't how I'd describe my view of the world today. Best stay home, I think, rather than risk buying books on Empty Nest Syndrome or hideous holiday footwear that looks like recycled tyres. Maybe I should do my nails and practise those chin exercises.
