Yes We Canberra

 I hadn't planned to blog at all this trip, given that it was chiefly business, and I thought I covered everything last year. Fortunately, I snuck in enough adventures to justify a post.
 Working a full day Friday meant that I'd spend a long summer Shabbat in Canberra, back with the community that welcomed me so warmly on my last trip. This time was kicked up a notch - a strong minyan Friday night with a brisk davening followed up with a rollicking meal at the Rabbi's home. It reminded me so much of a meal we would have had at Kesher twenty years ago... a full table of mid-20s government employees, at various levels of observance, all thrilled to be sharing a delicious meal (Indian, and with home-brewed beer, no less) with vibrant conversation on topics ranging from Australian politics to American primary results to Jewish thought to preferred vacation spots. Topped off with some time doing puzzles with the Rabbi's 3 year old daughter, it felt very much like home.
 Shabbat morning was packed. Whereas last time we had to wait for a minyan, this time we had one by Borchu, and when the Tot Shabbat arrived from the next room, the number of people in attendance doubled again. By kiddush, there were probably 80 people of all ages. At lunch, I was the youngest attendee instead of the oldest, but had no less fun, as this tight knit group of community stalwarts immediately welcomed me and another foreign guest into their circle of friendly jibes and loving insults - just my kind of crowd. I didn't expect the fondness for economic policy and Coen brothers films which kept the conversation rolling long after we had eaten our fill.

Pictures taken before Shabbat :)

 Rather than just head back to the hotel and squander an out-of-season summer Shabbat, I went with my regular habit - walking. I walked to the Parliament House, where I knew there was a free afternoon tour. En route, I could already hear the raised voices of a protest on the lawn outside the building. A phalanx of day-glo clad police stood at attention in front of a few hundred protesters, many of whom were wearing the Australian flag as a cape, some of whom wear wearing it as a hat, and at least one woman who was wearing it as a bikini. There were more flags than people, which was not particularly troubling until I realized that in some instances the Union Jack in the top left corner had been replaced with a Crusader's cross... not a hopeful sign. Fears were confirmed when I heard the rhetoric. It turns out that this was the first (!) of a worldwide series of anti-Muslim rallies scheduled for that day. The speaker I heard gave a profanity laced diatribe against Islam,  calling on his Christian brothers to preserve Australia by converting all of the Moslems in the country. (He apologized to the atheists in the crowd saying "they won't go for that".) I won't replay the naked racism displayed as the crowd loudly endorsed his deplorable strategies for ridding the country of Islam. It was dismaying.
 I escaped inside for the tour. The docent emphasized how the architecture was designed to demonstrate transparency and equality. All of the chambers were equipped with video cameras for broadcast when they were built in 1988. There are soundproof viewing galleries for visiting school groups in both houses. The press facilities are vast. The prime minister's office on the first floor is arrayed so that were all the doors to be opened at once, he would stare directly into the front of the Australian War Memorial. It was so essential that the parliamentarians not feel elevated above the people they serve that they literally cut the top off of Capitol Hill and buried the Parliament House inside. A copy of the Magna Carta is on display in the lobby. The Great Hall is regularly rented out for weddings, Senior Proms and an annual ping ping tournament. The juxtaposition with the ruffians outside was stark.
 Parliament was also an amusing amalgam of British and American traditions. The Senate, House of Representatives, Speaker of the House, composition, terms of service and legislative structure all ape the US. Their pomp is all British - the coloration of the chambers, the vestigial governor general, question time, the prominent portrait of the Queen, and most of all, the enormous gaudy golden mace indicating the party in power which rests on the center table during debating sessions. The marble patterns and modern art dated the construction firmly and accurately in the late 80s. More striking than the color of the decor was the content. Underneath the outstretched cyborg arms holding the enormous national flag aloft, in the main chamber, there are four displays of historic documents presented. One shows the Queen's approval of Australia's constitution. The other three are apologies. I'm not making this up. There is, at least, an official governmental apology for treatment of the aborigines, another for the use of land and another for forced adoptions. I cannot think of a similar phenomenon in the western world.
 After Parliament, I walked down to the National Portrait Gallery. I only got in a few minutes of browsing before a guard came to usher me out for closing time. As we reached the exit, he asked me "You are a Jew?" (Apparently, kippot in Canberra are quite rare.) I confirmed, and he said, "I am a Muslim", grinned broadly and extended his hand, which I shook and replied "Very nice to meet you." As I walked out, he shouted after me "You should come back tomorrow!"

 I walked by the High Court, and through the Peace Path, an outdoor version of the Hall of Nations at the Kennedy Center. Realizing that it was now after 5 and Canberra was closed up tight, I strolled down to Lake Burley Griffin, the man made pond at the architectural center of this underpopulated capital. The handful of bikers and joggers going by weren't enough to inhibit me from lying down and taking a nap lakeside.
 With the help of the local church bells, I was able to make it back in time to shul for a rare Canberra treat - Shabbat mincha! That was followed by a lovely seudah shlishit back at the Rabbi's house and finally Havdalah. There was even minyan Sunday morning - the Rabbi was deservedly kvelling.
 Hope to see you in six months...

Almost home

I don't usually have need for an air sickness bag, but seeing a grown man watching back to back episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians was almost enough.

Unfortunate name

The name of tonight's hotel concierge, no joke, Candy Yam.

Also, I returned to the hotel at 5:45 and asked what stores might be available for some light shopping. She said they've all closed for the night. Sigh.

Syd Vicious

I only had one day to escape lovely, lame Canberra to Sydney, so I jumped in feet first. I hopped a 5 AM bus heading Northeast, and arrived in Sydney by morning. By foot over about 3 miles, and with some assistance from the fantastic I'm Free Walking Tour (http://www.imfree.com.au/), I was able to take in Hyde Park, QVB, Customs House, Rum Hospital, Barracks, St. Mary's, Australia Museum, War Memorial, George Street, the Rocks, Sydney Tower, Martin Place, Pitt Street, and of course Circular Quay, Harbor Bridge and Opera House.
That was in the morning.
Then I celebrated the presence of Uber with a lift over to Bondi for a delicious lunch at a lovely kosher bakery and outdoor cafe with a prime people-watching on Hall Street.
I spent my afternoon walking down 4 miles of eye-popping beaches, filled with surfers, volleyball players, bathers (sun and surf) and families despite the relatively cool winter season.
Back to Bondi for dinner - I did not restrain my gluttony since this is the only locale I'll be in all trip with kosher restaurants - and then back to the bus for a late night return to Canberra.
This makes a total of almost 35 miles I've walked over the course of the last few days. I'm done. Really done. Returning from work tomorrow directly to bed.

I {3 OU

Never thought I'd say it, but boy do I miss hashgachot. Shopping off a list - even an electronic list - is horrendous.
Forget the amount of extra time it takes. Ignore the stares of the people waiting behind you in the skinny aisles while you balance your phone in one hand and your mostly empty shopping cart in the other. And pay no attention to the brain freeze that sets in when you're trying to calculate currency conversion while simultaneously guessing which brand has the most kosher sounding name (which, for the record, is not a meaningful indicator).
Shopping off the list saps your will to eat.
When you decide "I want crackers", and you search one brand of crackers, then a second brand of crackers, then a third brand of crackers, coming up empty each time, you then think "Do I really want crackers? I don't really need crackers. Forget crackers." and move on to the next food item.
After you do this for 15 food items, and the only thing in your cart is bananas that are five times as expensive as they are at home because the minimum wage here is AUS$16.87/hour, you curse loudly, throw a bottle of water, a tin of chewing tobacco and a home decor magazine into your basket and storm out of there muttering "I'll eat AIR! OVERPRICED BANANAS and AIR!" under your breath.
God bless hashgachot in all of their greed, hypocrisy and illogic. I wouldn't want it any other way.

Trauma-less-ness in art

I was in no rush to return home from lunch on Saturday since Shabbat ended early (5:29 pm) and my electronic key prevented me from getting back into my room anyway without staff assistance. So, as I am wont to do, I meandered.

I passed the Australian National Archives, which a huge yellow sign out front proclaiming "Come in. We're open. It's free." I thought "you had me at free" and trotted on in. The lady at the front desk immediately asked me "are you here for the talk?" To which I responded, "I could be, what's the talk about." She: "It's about Trauma and Art and it starts in five minutes." Me: "Sold." She: "It's in the Menses Room down the hall to the left." Me: (silently) "That's gross." (aloud) "Thank you!"
Outside the horrifyingly named but otherwise nondescript Menses Room, a woman stood with a clipboard. She: "Are you here for the talk?" Me: "Why yes I am." She: "Well it's about to start. Did you register in advance?" Me: "I did no such thing. Is that a problem?" She: "We'll find a space for you. Give me your name and head inside." I then proceeded into a room empty of anyone except me, the speaker, and a photographer. Larf.
The talk didn't start for another 20 minutes, and another two dozen people showed up, but the Friday allowed me to read the catalog on their current special exhibition Without Consent an exhibit following the national apology for a series of forced and manipulated adoptions occurring over decades to prevent the shame of single, out-of-wedlock motherhood. (The comparative shame of government sanctioned, church executed cold hearted child abductions was apparently not weighed until years later.) It was a fascinating discussion of a scandalous open secret which went on for decades and whet my appetite for the presentation.
Underservedly.
For while the talk was sponsored by the exhibition, instead of being an exploration of the pain and suffering those actions certainly caused, it was a snot nosed punk artiste who by his own admission "had a privileged life and never experienced any sort of trouble whatsoever" using his art to protest the fear instilled by the police state in Australia has become in the age of terrorism and memorializing the "pointless" deaths of Australian soldiers in Afghanistan.
For the record, the only things to fear in Australia are crocodiles and ennui. The government is as benign as a butterfly. Their enduring shame is their treatment of the aborigines, and believe you me, if Native Americans were treated half as well as First Peoples are here, there would be a casino on every street corner, and we'd all live in places called Monnockkesey and Conshahocken. In order for this to be a police state, first they'd need to get some police. All deaths in war are tragic, but the loss of soldiers' lives do not condemn a war anymore than justify it. This kid had no right to invoke their deaths to make political point against policy he disagreed with, if he could even form that argument.

 Feh.

The Tasman Sea defeats me

After a lovely few miles walking from Bondi beach through Clovelly, Tamarama, and Bronte, I decided that I would end off at Coogee by dipping my toes into the Tasman Sea. Recognizing that I had no change of clothes and a three and a half hour bus ride back to Canberra waiting for me at the other end, I determined I would sacrifice what meager fashion sense I maintain and try to keep dry. I deposited my socks and shoes in my backpack, rolled my pants up to my ankles and bravely (if dorkily) approached the surf. At high tide, the waves are a bit unpredictable, but I played it safe, walking only along the edge of the damp sand, figuring that was the furthest the water had reached. Seeing a few kids frolicking in the foam emboldened me, and I took about three steps towards the crystal blue expanse. Mere seconds after doing so, the largest wave I had seen yet that day came crashing in, soaking me in sand and sea from head to toe.

Tasman Sea 1, Sloan 0.

A civilized end to a magnificent day

This is the way to wait for a bus...

Save your time...

I don't know why I bother blogging the trip... This video already says it all.

https://youtu.be/RdIFx27opJc

Mind you, it's the dead of winter here

Now off to find P Sherman

You mean you don't have lorikeets?

As I walked to shul on Saturday morning, a thick, cloying fog enveloped Canberra. Visibility was poor, and crossing the bridges gave the impression of complete nothingness on either side, as if one was as likely to emerge into Asgard as the Parliamentary Quarter.
Once off the bridge, I detected motion to either side of me. This was notable, because Canberra is generally empty and still. Like neutron bomb empty. By 8 pm, the sidewalks are clear, the traffic lights change for empty intersections. There are no police. There are no homeless. There are no drunks or celebrants stumbling home from the bars and clubs. There is no litter blowing in the breeze. It is still like death.
So detecting any motion was a surprise. I saw birds feeding in the grass on either side of the sidewalk. Rather than the gray, awkward pigeons with vacant eyes that populate most cities I'm familiar with, these were parrots. Legit parrots, colorful feathers, brilliant red heads, little curved beaks, eating by the side of the road as if they were unaware that they were supposed to be starring in an advertisement for a tropical vacation. Sure enough as my walk progressed, I saw cockatiels in the trees and parrots in regal greens and blues hopping on the light posts, squawking and taking advantage of the city which had obviously been abandoned for their enjoyment.
Remarking on this point to another American later, she recounted a conversation with an Australian in which she tried to describe that all the birds at home are brown and grey. The Australian responded, with amazement in place of irony, "you mean you don't have lorikeets?" Enough already with the made up words. Every bus I passed that evening was going to Tuggeranong. Just... enough.
The small Jewish community consists of a single building which hosts both an orthodox and a progressive community under the same roof, echoes of Hillel. Though we fell just short of a minyan on Friday night, every single person in the room was warm and welcoming. I had dinner with a lovely couple who had brought their accents with when they left Glasgow decades ago, so our hours of lovely, lively conversation sounded like a Mike Myers skit. Shabbat morning included a few younger representatives of the community, and a more robust attendance, with the welcome surprise of more women than men. Hearing the blessing for "Elizabeth, Queen of Australia" is still completely dissonant for me, but I'm in their house, so I hold my tongue. The Rabbi was a young, energetic, eloquent and warm scholar from whom we will doubtless hear more in the future. His young daughter clung to his leg, eyeing me as if I was about to steal all the lollipops. Each of my attempts at peekaboo were cause for her to bury her face deeper in her father's tallis. Little did she know though that I was invited for lunch as well! By the time we were past kiddush, we were already on the floor planning a Disney princess matching game, and shortly after lunch we were building and destroying Duplo towers, and reading books on the sofa. I still got it. Her adorableness was multiplied by her heavy accent which her father insisted was a New Zealand affect, not that atrocious Australian whine. (Naturally, I cannot distinguish the two, but he was quite insistent.)
I've followed my typical modus operandi for encountering a new city, which is simply to walk, get lost, and find an alternative way home to see as much as I can. My pedometer is more fond of this than my feet are, but they have yet to truly protest, despite my walking more than twenty miles over the past three days. Canberra has some cool looking stuff, and I've now been to the majority of sites ringing Lake Burley Griffen, as well as the old and new Parliament buildings, but unfortunately have few pictures to share. Since the sun is down before 5 pm, I'm either viewing these sites in the pitch black, or it's Shabbat. I've include some of the nighttime ones here, but they don't do it justice.
I'm planning Sunday in Sydney, so hopefully I'll have some more visuals to share after that.
Shavua tov!

Last call for Wogga Wogga

Always excited to explore a new city, but as always, you have to make it there first.

My trip was delayed a day because it turns out the folks at the airport are rather stringent on the requirement to have a passport with you when traveling internationally. Not my finest moment as a business traveler. Fortunately my client was amused, not enraged. I nearly missed planes twice and nearly lost my luggage twice, but arrived intact.

The first thing I heard announced in an Australian airport was "Last Call for Wogga Wogga", which would make a great name for a Wiggles album (who I believe are also Australian). For the record, Wogga Wogga is a real place, and not just making the same nonsense noise twice to see if any one calls you on it.

Saw my first "Caution: Kangaroo Crossing" sign.

Also experienced a series of wake-up calls from the native birds, the Canberra Kookaburras. Kookaburra is an aboriginal word meaning "strangling a baby", or at least I assume so based on the noises they are making outside my window. The Canberra Kookaburras would make a great name for a rugby team. It also is the name of the local rugby team.

I am in a land of funny made up words that people pretend are real.

Since its the middle of the winter the sun sets before 5 pm. As such, I'm off to wander around in the dark.

Food fail

What you get when the airline substitutes your kosher meal with a "fruit tray".

The best sight to see

8 more and we've got a minyan

Saw the first kippah not on my own head this morning in the hotel lobby... naturally checking in just before I'm checking out.

Exit stage left...

"India: Continuing protests over Telangana statehood issue to cause further disruption, localised unrest in parts of Andhra Pradesh in coming days

Further travel disruption and localised unrest can be expected in parts of Andhra Pradesh state in the coming days and weeks, due to continuing demonstrations for and against the recent decision to create a separate state of Telangana from ten of the state's 23 districts. The following related events will also take place:

• 17-19 October: Civic groups intend to protest outside central government offices in Andhra Pradesh.
• 19 October: The YSR Congress party plans to rally in the state capital Hyderabad to denounce the division of Andhra Pradesh..."

Sunday with the Shahs

 A tip if you ever find yourself touring around Hyderabad... wear socks. Every site we went to today had at least one section where shoes were prohibited, and I cannot recommend going around in bare feet.
 On Sunday, we took half the day off to tour, and spent it at three sites.
 First was the Birla Temple, a massive creation overlooking all of Hyderabad. Unconscionably, cameras were prohibited, so I can only attempt to briefly describe the floor to ceiling intricately carved solid marble, the breathtaking views of a city of over 8 million people that ranged literally as far as the eye could see, and the alcoves in every corner of the temple, each with its own idol. Devotees line up, place a donation in the lockbox in front of each idol, fold their hands, offer a brief silent prayer, and move on. Shirtless monks sweep up with bundles of sticks, change out any wilted flowers, and lie about the temple. (The sweeping is no mean feat, and apart from my hotel, the temple itself was by far the cleanest place I've been in the country.) There were no guides available in the temple, which made me all the more aware of just how ignorant I am of Hinduism. I was able to take a few pictures of the temple from the parking lot at least.
 We moved on from there to sites associated with the 7 Qutub Shahs who founded Hyderabad and ruled it around 850 years ago. Fortunately there we were able to get guides to explain what we were seeing. Each of our guides at these sites inflated their prices by 10x , but our negotiating brought it back down to close to what was listed in the guide books. At Golconda Fort, we meandered through the archways of what was once a massive seat of government, diamond trading center and home to 5,000 residents including 5,000 slaves. An amazing number of these residents were connected to the Shah's harem of over 350 wives and over a thousand eunuch guards. The four massive wheels which brought water up to the four internal reservoirs were turned all day by twenty slaves each. An innovative Persian engineer created an acoustics scheme that allowed for a signaling system with clapping at the front gate to be heard at the doorway to the throne room. This could be used as an early warning system as well, as an 8 kilometer tunnel large enough for the Shah to ride on horseback led from the throne room to the Charminar at the city center. The massive Kohinoor diamond that graces the British crown was mined near and traded at Golconda Fort. Both a mosque and a Hindu temple are built in various places on the site. The Fort, like so many sites here, was dilapidated and strewn with garbage, but no less fascinating for the mess.

 Next to the Fort were the 7 burial places of the Qutub Shahs who reigned at Golconda. These massive tombs are simply massive empty buildings with a replica tomb on the ground floor and a real tomb underground. Nothing happens in them, they are simply visited by those who wish to commune with these former rulers. Next to the main tombs are some smaller tombs for relatives, court physicians, and even favored courtesans. The massive mortuary bath which put our chevra kadisha facilities to shame.
 Many of the tombs have large mosques built next to them, each of which was used once and once only for the funeral prayers for that Shah. Next to many of these mosques there are smaller mosques, built there by the Sunni Musliims who came later and didn't respect the Shia prayer halls already in place. The preservation of these sites were due to these prayer spaces, as the conquering rulers could not destroy the sites without riling the population.

 My lasting impression from these sites were just how many "former owners" this area has had. These monuments represented a relatively small slice of the historical battles that went on for dominance here. A constant cycle of invasion, subjugation, treaty and invasion again persisted for millenia with most of those rulers conquests wiped away with them.

Dodged the bullet

 Cyclone Phailin made all the US news agencies as well, but thankfully due to aggressive evacuation by the Government of India, the damage is mostly to crops, with only a small handful of deaths.

 About a million people were evacuated. That's equivalent in size to the entire population of Washington, and many suburbs.

 Here in Hyderabad, we didn't see a drop of rain.

Like a HyderaBoss

 If at first you don't succeed....
 Undeterred by last week's Shabbas walk fiasco, I set out again in the afternoon with the goal of reaching Hussein Sagar, the large man made lake in the middle of Hyderabad with its enormous Buddha statue. With corrected bearings and more appropriate dress, I quickly arrived at the first landmark I could observe from my hotel room window, the bright orange MORE Superstore. My confidence building, I passed through an upper class condominium community, with the entrance to each gated community dripping with yellow and orange marigold garlands in honor of the holiday this week. Even in these more upscale areas, the roads are still hazardous, but that did not deter the family of five I saw put putting by on the same motorcycle.
 To keep my heading, I violated my "one turn" rule, made it across a bustling road and continued down a smaller alley. My path emerged onto a legitimate boulevard - intact sidewalks, planters along the median, and well behaved traffic! I realized a bit further on that this was Raj Bhavan Road which includes the Governor's Residence, the headquarters of the Hyderabad Police and the State Police traffic division headquarters. So that explains that.
 Though the buildings in front of me blocked my view, my sense was the the lake was just on the other side. Unfortunately, there was also a light rail line in front of me, and my newfound boldness crossing streets did not carry over to train tracks. I picked a direction and walked, in the hopes of finding something resembling a pedestrian cut-through before running out of road and becoming hopelessly lost. Just as the road ended, fortune smiled, and I found a train station that included an elevated walkway to the other side of the tracks. Entering the station, I saw a dog and goat snuggled up together, apparently waiting for the next train. While crossing over the tracks, a train approached the station. From a distance, it looked almost like a centipede, with scores of legs sticking out on both sides of the train. As it approached, it became clear that those were people hanging out the sides of the train, adding another entry to the ledger of potentially lethal transportation options in this country.
 Exiting the far side of the train station, I found myself on Necklace Road, the vehicle and pedestrian promenade that circles Hussein Sagar! I started around the lake. Vendors were selling fruit, ice cream, vegetables, peanuts and corn roasted right before your eyes, fresh sweet lime (water, fresh crushed lime and sugar), dosas, and a variety of other options I couldn't identify. Business wasn't exactly brisk, but there were a fair number of people in the narrow lakeside park, doing cartwheels, playing catch and chasing after each other in the Indian equivalent of blind man's bluff. It was natural to see young couples canoodling on the benches, though bracing when the woman is wearing a full burqa.
 Before you get too halcyon an image, the walk along the lake is punctuated by signs with messages like "Keep Hussein Sagar clean, it is our legacy!" and such. There is a two foot ring of sludge and garbage around the entire lake, and people casually relieve themselves on the shoreline. The retaining wall, safety fence, part of the promenade and at least a few small boating slips have all crumbled into the lake. The odor is unpleasant and the various entertainment facilities that have sprung up at intervals around the lake are threadbare at best, and more commonly decrepit.
 From the shoreline, I could see the Buddha statue in the southern park of the lake. Now I like big Buddhas, and I can't deny, but this one has a particularly odd story. It's carved from a single piece of granite, is 60 feet tall and weighs 350 tons. After it was carved, the roads of Hyderabad were widened to accommodate its arrival. A platform was erected in the lake to hold. Unfortunately, when the massive statue was moved to a barge to transport it to the platform, it made it less than half way and then tipped and sank, killing ten people. It took years to salvage the Buddha, but it now stands proudly on the platform (dubbed "The Rock of Gibraltar"), is accessible by ferry and is lit an eerie red at night.
 Among other sights, I passed a handicraft show, a political rally, and a massive monument to a former chief minister that requires you to remove your shoes to enter. After making it a quarter of the way around the lake, I decided it was probably best to make it back to the hotel before dark, and retraced my steps successfully prior to nightfall. Sum total: 11 kilometers of round-trip walking in about 3 hours.
 I'll have to take another spin around when I can use a camera, but at least I can give you an overview of my route from my hotel window: