River Deep, Mountain Blue

Because Tafkab's parents are both retired they have incredibly busy schedules that only allow some time for themselves on Sundays. And since Tafkab has gibbed me into believing he would rent a car to get around here but instead forces both of us to take public transport in horrible, tropical weather, we have just stuck to the city so far. Last Sunday, however, we took a trip to the Blue Mountains.

The Blue Mountains are a mountain range some 60 odd km from Sydney, and named because from a distance they are supposed to look blue because of the eucalyptus oil in the air. As a good pretent-Roman I naturally accept the fact that eucalyptus is such a bedrock of Australian culture that it seems to cure anything from typhoid fever to horrid criminal intent (how else could a prison colony become a world-renowed purveyor of cultural icons and barbeque-recipies?) I have no problem accepting the fact it also colours the air into a random colour, and at no time at all have I suggested that almost EVERYTHING looks blue from a goodly distance, and neither will I. (It does so because the air is full of water, and water is, actually, blue. Look it up.)

But yes, the mountains. They are very beautiful. About four times as high as the fair Netherlands highest point my ears popped for changing pressure about three times before we hit the first town. The towns are all set up exactly the same, along the main road, with a pharmacy, a chinese restauarant and usually a few antique/kitsch/souvenir/koala-petting stores and a sign at the beginning and end telling you what "...of the mountains" this particular town is (Jewel, Beauty, Pride, Heart, Butterfly, Spleen, Sphincter, you name it, we pased it). We ended up in a town named Ketoomba, which, despite sounding like the last bit of a Swahilli curse (Nendo Katumba means "Go have sexual relationships with yourself in an unpleasant manner") was very pleasant. Apart from the flies. Oh god. The flies.

I did suddenly understand why the spiders in this country become so big, they need to, to be able to take on the flies. Christ where there many of them. I was well covered within a second of getting out of the car, one particularly tenacious one I named "Guz" (Why? Just Guz.) and he followed us around all through the day, untill we handed him an item of clothing and he promised to overthrow a nasty landowner close by.

But whenever the screen of buzzing annoyance would lift, I was treated by an amazing, amazing view. Truly spectacular mountainsides and lush, LUSH foresting. All very pretty. I apologize for not posting photo's on the blog, the upload-thingy is refusing to work and I have to put everything on Facebook for now.

We saw the three sisters, a rock formation so named for an old Aborigine legend of bad fatherhood. The story goes a witchdoctor turned his daughter into rocks to protect them from a Bunyip, then himself into a Lyrebird to escape the beast himself. Now I don't know much about the whole Aborigine magical history, but why not turn the Bunyip into stone? Huh? Thought of that? But I guess we should be grateful, as i9t does make for good photos.

After the three sisters and a lunch of thee and scones, we took the steepest little train ever (60 degrees) down the side of the mountain to walk around the forests and old mining equipment a bit, then the steepest cablecar back up. This was actually really nice, and very pretty, but since I make it a habit to not stop to read information signs for stuff I can find online, and I dislike reading "and then we saw a tree, and then another tree, and then a rock" type of journals, this is the best you guys are going to get.

Home, earpoppingly, most of which trip I missed because despite desperate attempts to the contrary I zonked out about fifteen minutes in and woke up in the driveway. Tomorrow the Melbourne trip and Dame Edna pilgrimage is supposed to begin. I've just read the unauthorized biography, and am looking forward to it even more.

Lot's of love. K.