A Sackful of Sayings No. 10

What is the real difference between indolence and indulgence?  One says it is a certain balance between unworthy laziness and self-conscious luxury; another sees the tension between a pleasurable hesitation and a guilty leaving go of self-control; still another suggests a playful overlapping of a necessary rest between great bouts of sleep and a  lively enjoyment of  extravagant dreams.

I was so impressed by the high level of art to be found in little galleries and shops in the backwater towns of Victoria—the painting, sculpture, architecture, along with linen table cloths from Paris, woven paper from Paris, and intricate novels from Sydney and London.  There were also marvellous, unexpected fine restaurants.  If I were young, a hundred years ago, I would still have been a stranger to this rough-hewn wilderness.

Hour after hour we drove through the countryside, trees blackened by last year’s fires and others overthrown.  Then the signs to beware of kangaroos and wombats, none of them to be seen.  The paddocks dotted with sheep and cattle, occasionally a horse or pony, and suddenly a flock of emu in a paddock.  But never any children. 

Not so long ago, a young student asked the difference between Charles I and Charles II and which one of them was Charlemagne.  Now students do not ask because they cannot hear the difference.  Tomorrow  no one will be there to give the lecture.

The convent in the hills is labyrinthine, with small twisting staircases and tiny, unimaginable cells for the sisters, who slept there without material possessions.  Above, in the narrow infirmary on the floor closest to heaven, there are now works of art, and everywhere the displays of canvas and wooden statues.  During the war, when Japanese submarines harassed the coast, children were sent here for safety.  They are gone now, like the nuns, only memories amidst the modern art.  Outside once, in the beginning, immigrants clambered over the hills searching for golden nuggets close to the surface.  They too are gone, the seekers and the riches.  None of these ghosts intermingle, as we climb the steps and listen for the echoes of eternity.

In the Chinese grocery, as I go to pay for my weekly portion of sunflower seeds, a young woman dressed in bright crimson cape and hood, smiles at me.  I tell her she looks like Little Red Riding Hood.  She smiles again and takes my money.  An uncomprehending smile.

Slow-cooked goat and duck, cups of saki, subtle flavours of a Parisian restaurant in the dusty outback Australian town.  Now that the gold’s all gone, immigrants carry other treasures with them, tastes and skills of many cuisines.  What do the ghosts in the charmed landscape see when they peer in at night?

Nine Tips for Would-be Time-Travellers

§  Don’t tell locals they have strange customs or accents; you are the unknown factor.

§  Eat as little as possible, drink even less, and leave quickly; you never know where you will be next.

§  Control your urge to laugh when listening to jokes at the next table; wait until you are alone before reacting.

§  Pay for all services with a cheerful smile and never haggle or question taxes; the exchange rate will be determined after you have left.

§  When you see your own childhood on display in the local museum, do not exclaim; complaints will appear on the next best-seller list.

§  What you assume to be a fun house may be someone’s home.

§  All goods on sale have been imported for your benefit to make you feel comfortable.  Anything you do not purchase will be returned at the airport at your expense.

§  Never plan ahead.  Do what you did the last time you passed through.

§  Keep your feet firmly planted in the present, and lean back as far as you are able before you start to yodel.