"It is not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."
- Thoreau
The Travel Bug Bites
1969 was a tremendous year for travel. Man first landed on the moon and I was allowed to go on a Y.A.L. tour with some friends to Sydney and Melbourne at the end of my primary schooling. I was 12 years old and the anticipation was exhilarating. I remember the thrill of planning what to take and carefully packing quite a bit ahead. I had a painful ear infection leading up to the trip and although I was in great pain I pretended to be fine so that I could still go. I remember boarding the train in a red cotton top and matching long pants and joining my friends in a carriage for the journey from Proserpine to Brisbane. In Brisbane we joined others from around the state and two buses carried us and our chaperones on the most exciting adventure of our young lives. We stayed on camp beds at the show grounds in both Sydney and Melbourne and a highlight included Lunar Park visits in both cities. Other things that stick in my memory include buying a kilo of cherries for 11 cents and swimming in the ocean somewhere in Victoria. Apparently in 1969 the cost of cherries was at an all time low in Melbourne. I could not believe how cheap they were, and as they were a luxury to us in north Queensland I happily munched my way through that kilo with no adverse side effects that I can recall. Swimming in a cold ocean was also a surprise to children raised in the tropics. I swam out to a platform in a swimming enclosure and once out it took me forever to gain the courage to plunge in to return to shore. I took photos with a box brownie and the photo below is the only one I still have as a record of this adventure.
I could not wait for my next trip and I saved madly so that I could go on another Y.A.L. tour, this time to the snow. It was the winter of 1971 and my first experience of snow. I froze the whole time as my non-waterproof footwear and clothing was woefully unsuitable, but still, it was a thrilling experience. We stayed at Mt Bulla and tobogganing on old sacks down snowy slopes was the highlight of this trip. My parents trusted me with their new camera and I had colour slides made of my memories.
The Young Australia League (Inc) (Y.A.L.) is an Australian youth organisation that was formed in Perth, Western Australia in 1905 by Jack Simons and Lionel Boas. It was developed as a means to encourage nationalism and patriotic values and organises activities to promote "Education through Travel". The Y.A.L. did that for me. It whetted my appetite for travel and my education continues.
Travel Sounds Good to Me
Travelling is a sensuous adventure. Sometimes my senses are taut with tingling anticipation of the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches I know lie ahead. Sometimes they are languid, lazily waiting to soak up whatever may come my way. Whichever mode my senses are in, it is what records my experiences more solidly than any photograph or written word.
It is through our senses that we are really able to experience life to the full. Any travel album illustrates the oohs and aahs of what caught the traveller’s eye. Taste is another biggie for me. My travel diaries read like the ultimate restaurant guide to the world. The meals I have eaten are most often my main reference point when pin-pointing specific times and places of past journeys. But when it comes to spine tingling, almost spiritual memories, sounds do it for me.
On a clear, crystal, chilly December night, high in the mountains near Delphi, a Greek friend took us to a place where we could see the lights in the villages far below twinkling in the dark silence. As we stood there, a lovely clear sound floated through the valley around us, pitched beautifully like a tinkling bell. So sweetly and so clearly it rang in my ears that to this day whenever I think of it I get goosebumps. My friend said it was the air moving through the valley, but I almost believe it was the music of Pan’s pipe.
Say Egypt to anyone and pyramids most likely arise in their mind’s eye. Say Egypt to me and I hear a thousand sounds of thousands of lives. I hear the wailing, morning song of the muezzin drifting up to meet the dawn, calling the faithful to prayer. Half awake on a little felucca I hear the slapping of oars on water. Slap! Slap! Slap! Through sleepy eyes and a cool, morning mist I see fisherman hitting the waters of the sleepy Nile with their oars to frighten the fish into waiting nets. On a quiet, little grassy mound above the city of Alexandria I suddenly realise it is not really quiet at all. The sonorous hum washing over me is the sound of a thousand voices from the city below. And sometimes, as I wander through Egypt’s ancient, mighty structures I even hear the ancient kings and queens and priests whispering. “Look what we did. Look what we did.”
I hear cow bells clanging through the valleys of Switzerland and elephant bells clunking, wood against wood, through the valleys of Thailand. I hear castanets clicking in Spain and clapping sticks clacking in Kakadu, sitars twanging in India and trumpets honking in New Orleans. The world is alive with sound, rich and vibrant, loud and soft, soothing and irritating.
And sometimes, somewhere, all these sounds hush up for a little while and silence drapes the scenery with its soft, quiet blanket. I have heard this silence on a dune in The Great Sandy Desert of Western Australia. Whenever I feel the need for a little peace and solitude I close my eyes and hear it still. Travel sounds great to me.
It is through our senses that we are really able to experience life to the full. Any travel album illustrates the oohs and aahs of what caught the traveller’s eye. Taste is another biggie for me. My travel diaries read like the ultimate restaurant guide to the world. The meals I have eaten are most often my main reference point when pin-pointing specific times and places of past journeys. But when it comes to spine tingling, almost spiritual memories, sounds do it for me.
On a clear, crystal, chilly December night, high in the mountains near Delphi, a Greek friend took us to a place where we could see the lights in the villages far below twinkling in the dark silence. As we stood there, a lovely clear sound floated through the valley around us, pitched beautifully like a tinkling bell. So sweetly and so clearly it rang in my ears that to this day whenever I think of it I get goosebumps. My friend said it was the air moving through the valley, but I almost believe it was the music of Pan’s pipe.
Say Egypt to anyone and pyramids most likely arise in their mind’s eye. Say Egypt to me and I hear a thousand sounds of thousands of lives. I hear the wailing, morning song of the muezzin drifting up to meet the dawn, calling the faithful to prayer. Half awake on a little felucca I hear the slapping of oars on water. Slap! Slap! Slap! Through sleepy eyes and a cool, morning mist I see fisherman hitting the waters of the sleepy Nile with their oars to frighten the fish into waiting nets. On a quiet, little grassy mound above the city of Alexandria I suddenly realise it is not really quiet at all. The sonorous hum washing over me is the sound of a thousand voices from the city below. And sometimes, as I wander through Egypt’s ancient, mighty structures I even hear the ancient kings and queens and priests whispering. “Look what we did. Look what we did.”
I hear cow bells clanging through the valleys of Switzerland and elephant bells clunking, wood against wood, through the valleys of Thailand. I hear castanets clicking in Spain and clapping sticks clacking in Kakadu, sitars twanging in India and trumpets honking in New Orleans. The world is alive with sound, rich and vibrant, loud and soft, soothing and irritating.
And sometimes, somewhere, all these sounds hush up for a little while and silence drapes the scenery with its soft, quiet blanket. I have heard this silence on a dune in The Great Sandy Desert of Western Australia. Whenever I feel the need for a little peace and solitude I close my eyes and hear it still. Travel sounds great to me.