Noticing History in Hobart

One of the great benefits of touring a destination where you know several people is that they are familiarly with all the shortcuts and have great insights. It is difficult to make any definitive statements about Hobart given the limited amount of time I spent in the city; however, my impression is of a city rich in history and interests. As is my habit, I noticed many of the smaller historical sites that tell a rich and complex tale of a city, its people and Tasmania.

The one destination that I considered imperative was a visit to the gates of the Beaumaris Zoo. Much like the Berlin Zoo, which I visited earlier this year, it is a place where the folly of humans has had is duly recorded. The zoo, which has been closed for more than 75 years, was the site of interesting stories, such as the attempted escape of a polar bear in 1926. More importantly, Beaumaris Zoo was the location where the last known thylacine died in 1936. More popularly know as Tasmanian Tigers, thylacines were intriguing animals that were drove into extinction. Although there are rumors and hope that there are a few thylacines wondering around the wilds of Tasmania, there is very little good evidence to suggest this is the case. The zoo closed the year following the death of the last thylacine.  

Another tragic event, commemorated high above the city on trails of Mt. Wellington (kunanyi), is the fate of George Radford. Competing in a “go-as-you-please” race to the pinnacle, and return, in September 1903. Radford was caught in snowstorm and perished. Today, a walking and mountain bike trail that meanders through a fern forest is named in his honor. As I walked the trail through the forest, the knowledge that Charles Darwin also walked the same mountain in 1836 gave me much to think about as well.

On a much less somber note, the monuments and signage on docks of Hobart demonstrates the city has several connections with the rest of the world despite its remoteness. This is particularly true of the signing remembering the Jam Factory of Henry Jones. In many ways, the business ethics and manners mirrored the practices of many of Jones’s contemporary. He was very successful and his company’s effort meant that fruit grown in Tasmania, turned into jams and pulp, were consumed around the world. Yet, his treatment of workers were questionable and reflects many of the excesses of the industrial period. Along Hunter Street sits the remains of the factory, now repurposed. His product named, IXL, referred to his personal statement: “I excel at everything I do.” Yet despite his bravado, Jones’s treatment of workers and questionable business practices are remembered at the docks as well. 

Experiencing Hobart

Traveling is often not about a destination; in fact, it may be the least important part of a journey.  What is far more important are the experiences and interactions we have along the way. More so than many of my trips, the interactions in Hobart were significant and personal. While there are several significant sites seen and observed, these are not what will remain in my memory. Instead, spending time in suburban homes, enjoying good meals and better conversations, having a go at backyard cricket, and sitting at cafés and restaurants talking, laughing and sharing stories will be my primary memories. It was not my intent to travel to Tasmania to hold a four-day old baby, but how lucky am I to have that among my catalog of experiences? When I reread this brief entry in the future, it will help me to remember a conversation in which a five-year old friend described the intricacies his new Christmas toy, a Gup X, based upon the children’s television series The Octonauts. His fascinated cousins looked on as he described all the sea creatures that could be rescued by the Gup X vehicle.

Traveling and meeting new people turn mundane events into fond memories and important experiences. Our lives are richer because of them. 

Christmas in Melbourne

Traveling is always provides a sense of dislocation. This is why, perhaps, I like it. We experience something new and different; it is a challenge to understand a new city, different ways of doing things, and translating cultures. Granted that my current trip does not require much in the way of translating language, although there has been a few times when I have asked people to repeat themselves. Nevertheless, travel insists that we examine our own lives, actions and customs, focusing on why we do the things we do.

On a flight from Auckland to Melbourne, on Christmas morning, I was seated on the front row of the aircraft. During take-off and landing this provided an opportunity for me and my fellow passengers to chat with two flight attendants. I commiserated with them on having to work on Christmas; although I did not say this, there were a many of holidays I had to work. The woman from Auckland seated next to me was on her way to Hobart for Christmas with her sister. She asked about my plans and I said that I would be exploring Melbourne. She made some comment about being alone on Christmas, to which I replied, “from my perspective, it doesn't much seem like Christmas.” She commented, “There is no snow, is there?”

It's a Wonderful Life shown on the big
screen in Federation Square, Melbourne

When I arrived in Melbourne I happened upon an article by Jason Wilson, who wrote about how European Christmas traditions made the holiday in Australia surreal.  Walking the city, in perfect 70˚ (F) and sunny weather, was an odd feeling. Santa Claus and snowmen are found throughout the city. Young men and women were wearing red Santa suits with matching caps throughout my travels over the past 48 hours. The most incongruous thing I saw was a group of people watching It’s a Wonderful Life on a big screen television in Federation Square in the city center of Melbourne. The thought of people sitting in summer attire, beneath shade umbrellas, watching the classic film about Christmas avarice and the importance of friendship and family in snowing Bedford Falls was a bit odd. 

Flinder Station, Melbourne

I continued with my own cinematic Christmas tradition. Much like the Parker family in A Christmas Story, I had my Christmas dinner out at a Chinese restaurant. My meal consisted of pork bone soup and steamed pork and wombok dumplings at a traditional restaurant. My dinner at a Chinese restaurant, however, was not necessitated by a pack of wild dogs stealing my turkey. 

Centre Square, Rotorua 

'Twas the night before Christmas at Auckland Airport

Spending the night at a budget hotel near the airport, I planned for dinner assuming that there would be very few dining options available Christmas Eve night. The last thing I wanted was a Christmas Eve dinner consisting of McDonalds.  At the airport, I selected a chicken, brie and cranberry sandwich and a brownie for dessert. It was a pleasant dinner watching New Zealand television; the sandwich was good, the brownie not so much. It was relaxing, there was nowhere to go, hence no guilt for just relaxing. A few hours later, after watching too much television, I wandered down to the lobby for a snack. The old poem suggests that there was “not a creature was stirring;” however, in my case, there was not a vending machine working.  It is alright, it just meant that I could have more for Christmas breakfast

Bus Trip: Auckland-Rotorua

Taking a bus from Auckland to Rotorua was an opportunity for me to see some of the countryside of New Zealand, while at the same time getting to my destination. Travelling by bus, allowed me to observe, if not interact with, other people. It turns out, with a few exceptions, most of the people on the bus were not from New Zealand. My observations and interactions with others were limited and consisted with a few short interchanges with the young man, travelling with his wife, from South Asia (e.g. “What time does this bus arrive in Rotorua?” he asked) and the young Scandinavian woman who frequently had her knees on the back of my seat, making sitting uncomfortable from time to time. 

The old Hannah's building in Rotorua

Seemingly, all towns have a minimum of one superette (a convenience store) and a host other local shops. These small stores sell basic items, magazines, lotto tickets, ice cream and snacks and have interesting signage, which is usually fading. Several of these shops have Coca-Cola advertisements, many of which are faded; a number also have Tip Top signs, a local New Zealand ice cream, since 1936. In many towns, there are buildings several buildings from the 1920s or 1930s that bear the name of the original owners. Although the building has long since found new purposes. It is quite common to see Hannah’s on the front of many buildings. Hannah’s is a shoe store chain in New Zealand, and although still in operation, many of the original buildings have been abandoned for newer shops. Nevertheless, the name and signs for Hannah’s still frequently appears. 

I found it very interesting to read the road signs as the kilometres go by. Just outside of Papakura, a tourist sign “Spookers Haunted Attractions” caught my eye. New Zealand is a car culture country, much like the United States; public transport is not widely used. Pedestrians do not have the right away most of the time and often proceed at their own risk. Nevertheless, the road signs, placed by regional or national government, establish a tone and expectation among drivers. The traffic signs in New Zealand, specifically the Bay of Plenty region, have a different tone than in the United States. One sign that is often seen is: “Think about other road users.” A simple plea not to focus on yourself, but to consider others as your principle for driving. Perhaps the most eye-catching, were a series of roadsigns between Hamilton and Rotorua. The signs feature an owl and warns motorists to obey certain rules and practices, such as slow down in turns. Furthermore they implore the driver to be wise. Some of the signs feature two smaller owls (children), sitting in the back seat, such as one urging people to buckle up. In one devastating sign, approximately 30 kilometres outside Rotorua, the sign depicted the owl weeping with two crosses in the background, with the words underneath: “Speed Kills.” A stark message with great graphics that is probably more effective than simple digital displays along the side of the road.

Interesting Buildings in Auckland

In my previous post, I alluded to the interesting buildings and architecture around Auckland. On my walking explorations of the city I found several examples that demonstrate my contention. Perched on the top of a challenging hill for walkers, Karangahape Road, locally known as K’ Road, has several architecturally significant buildings. The road’s name, translated from Maori, means “a winding ridge of human activity.” I walked the length of the road and explored some of the adjacent areas. Here are some of my favorite examples:

An old tram shelter along K’ Road, built in 1910, still stands although the tram were discontinued more than fifty years ago. 

Also along K’ Road, the intriguing St. Kevin’s shopping arcade was built as an entrance to Myers Park. The park is a gully that runs between two hills and was set aside in 1915 to benefit the citizens of the city. Today, there are a number of eclectic shops and restaurant in the arcade. 

The sixteen terraced shops along Queen Street were built between 1908 and 1912. Currently, restaurants occupy most of the shops. 

The Grey Lynn suburb has a number of shops and businesses. It is not the most prosperous area of Auckland; however, it is vibrant and varied. The seafood shop, with its faded colors, is a great subject for a novice photographer. 

Exploring Auckland

The first time I seriously considered Auckland was in college. I remember reading a brief story, in our local newspaper, about a guy who got on plane heading for Oakland, but ended up in Auckland. The man, Michael Lewis,  said that he was having trouble understanding the accent and thought he was going Oakland, but then grew concerned when the flight was taking him to Tahiti first. At the time, I was dubious about his story thinking that it was a clever scam to get a free trip to an exotic and costly destination; however, upon tracking down a few articles the story does seem to make more sense. 

My story is different: I intended to fly to Auckland, or more specifically to New Zealand. I once read that New Zealand looks like England did fifty years ago. I was not in England fifty years ago; however, judging from my, thus far, limited sojourns in Auckland, I am not sure that the observation is true. Auckland, which is not only the largest city in New Zealand but in the entire South Pacific, is different from many major cities. The city is a place of interesting architecture, where remnants of the the colonial past are still visible. 

A Pukeko in Western Springs, Lakeside Park 

The idea that a country of islands, half a world away, could come, occupy and colonize another chain of islands in the South Pacific is fascinating. Even today, with modern technology and transportation, New Zealand is isolated and exotic. As John Chambers points out, the interchange of cultures between the staid English and the sexually adventurous Polynesians makes the story of colonization improbably intriguing, with the potential for misunderstanding mores. Yet, the remoteness of the sizable islands of New Zealand gives it an other worldly draw. It took time for nature to colonize these remote islands. With no natural predators, some birds abandoned the use of flight. Trees and vegetation did not have the same development patterns as other areas.

The remoteness and mixing of identities, together with more recent arrivals, produces different kind of country. It does cause a tension between what New Zealand is and what it wants to be. Upon entry into the country, the traveller has a number of procedures he/she encounters. The arriving aircraft is sprayed with an aerosol in an attempt to prevent foreign insects from entering the ecosystem. A customs form, which all people arriving must fill out, uses draconian language in an attempt to enforce compliance with laws designed to protect native plants and animals. [Despite the ominous language, I found all the officials courtesy and helpful.] These measures are, no doubt, necessary to protect what remains of the fragile ecosystem. 

Whitcoulls in Central Auckland

Yet, things seem strangely familiar. The most common small bird I have seen while walking around Auckland is the sparrow. There are plenty of familiar stores and fast food restaurants.  Even Christmas is celebrated with a similar enthusiasm and tradition as in the Northern Hemisphere. During the holiday season, which is summer in the Southern Hemisphere, many of the decorations, carols and traditions appear to be centered around the notion that it is supposed to be cold. I was sitting in a café, having a coffee, while blaring over the speakers were two, back-to-back, versions of “White Christmas.” Santa and his reindeers adorn what was once Farmer’s Trading Company, a major department store in New Zealand now a huge bookshop, and snowmen dot the city. Yet, there are subtle differences. A restaurant I had dinner in one evening announced the following day (20 December) that is would be closing until mid-January for the holidays, a tradition that dates back to when shops in New Zealand closed at 6PM everyday. There are rather large flightless birds wondering around the numerous city parks.  And, after all, there are quite a few people wearing shorts and sandals wandering the city. 

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A Few Hours in Waikiki

A layover offered the chance to spend a few hours exploring Waikiki. Because I was spending less than a day, I made no specific plans and had no itinerary. I just needed to make sure I got a good night sleep and spend a few hours exploring. My expectations of Hawaii were, no doubt, shaped by popular culture. I often think about Tom Selleck’s character on Magnum P.I. routinely referring to the state of Hawaii as “paradise” rather than by its moniker. I suppose to many people it is. The temperate weather, beautiful and lush vegetation, and attractive and exotic setting makes it an important draw for many.

Queen Liluokalani

Hawaii has a different history from the rest of the United States. Yet, in many ways, the islands have become Americanized. A short ride through central Honolulu confirms that several popular American chains are available for shoppers to address their needs. On the shuttle I took from the airport to the hotel, I had difficulty hearing the driver from the back of the minibus; however, the one story I did catch was while we were sitting at a stoplight in central Honolulu. The driver noted that the Walmart to our left was once Macy’s, “but now it is Walmart.” I thought to myself that this could not be the most significant sight in central Honolulu.

One thing that is noticeable around Honolulu is the reverence for its royal past. Evidence of Hawaii’s monarchy is seemingly everywhere. While many of the monuments honor Queen Liliuokalani, the last queen of Hawaii, there are a number of other monuments and statues that commemorate individuals who are not as well known outside of the state. Among the more interesting is Prince Jonah Kuhio Kalaniana’ole Pi’ikoi who has a statue at a busy intersection on Waikiki beach. Kuhio joined a counter revolution in 1895 in an attempt to overthrow the Republic of Hawaii and restore the monarchy. He was charged with treason and jailed. Very popular among Hawaiians, he was elected as the territorial delegate from Hawaii to the United States Congress (1902-1922).

War Monument at Waikiki

The War Monument on Waikiki Beach honors soldiers who fought in the First World War from American territories, which Hawaii was at the time. Interestingly, the monument is in severe disrepair. At one time there had been a pool, but today the fence is padlocked and sign warns of danger and a lack of structural integrity. Given the relative wealth of the area and the proximity of the monument, it seems odd that this war memorial would be in such a state. 

Culinary Delights of Rural Western Ohio

Display in the window of Home Bakery

It was a rainy, cold early December Saturday, but the comfort foods of small town Ohio are an excellent remedy for nostalgia and loss. Early in the morning, I stopped by the Home Bakery in Coldwater, Ohio. This old, independent bakery on Main Street, which dates from at least the 1930s, has real homemade break and pastries. When I was there, about 8AM, the place was hopping. There were four customers ahead of me; two guys who were probably going to work, buying a quick breakfast and two other customers who ordered a dozen and a half dozen of doughnuts, respectively. While I was waiting, a kindly father brought three young daughters into the store, roughly aged from 3 to 6 years old. When he asked the girls what kind of doughnuts they would like to have, the middle child spoke up emphatically, “sprinkles!” As for me, it was a simple order: a loaf of white bread (a family-loved item), a pumpkin doughnut and a large cup of coffee to take the edge off a bitter rainy day. The bake goods are fresh and light; it is good I do not live in the vicinity. If I did, I would be 40 pounds heavier. But this is the real thing, no preservatives and made by local people. The total cost of my purchase was less than I would spend for a cup of coffee later in the day.

There is nothing quite like Maid-Rite Sandwich Shoppe in Greenville, Ohio. It is an old diner-style restaurant dating from 1934. There is a franchise of the same name that was founded in the 1920s and has stores sprinkled across the Midwest. Although those stores have the same name and virtually the same products, there appears to be no present link between the Greenville Shoppe and the current Maid-Rite franchise.

Long before you walk inside, there is no doubt that Maid-Rite in Greenville is a unique place. Often there is a line so long at the drive-in window that it spills out onto North Broadway where the right hand lane is a line of cars waiting patiently to order. The outside of the small brick building is adorned with used pieces of chewing gum creating culinary piece of art of questionable taste.  The specialty is the Maid-Rite, a loose meat sandwich of pure beef and spices, which seems to be primarily salt and pepper but seems to have a hint of ground mustard. Ordering the Maid-Rite with everything, the most common form, means that it comes with mustard, pickles and onions. Part of the allure of the sandwich, I think, is that the buns are steamed making the entire sandwich warm.

The interior is a rather plain and simple. There is a counter, where swivel seats invite patrons to have a quick bite to eat. Behind the counter a team of five to six high school/college age employees take orders, cook the meat and assemble sandwiches. There are usually a couple of older people who supervise as well. Sitting at the counter means that you can watch the food being prepared. Huge blocks of ground beef, about five pounds at a time, are dropped into one of the two wells that have a hot plate on the bottom. One of the employees mixes and stirs the beef until it is cooked to a golden brown, gradually added the requisite spice. The same employee will pull out steamed buns, place meat in it, and hand the sandwich to their partner standing adjacent, who will add pickles, onions and mustard, optional cheese and wrap the Maid-Rite in wax paper. While an incredibly simple sandwich, its popularity and taste defy explanation.

Gum on the wall of Maid-Rite

For many people who grew up in western Ohio, and others of us who have connections, places like Home Bakery and Maid-Rite are distinct reminders of home or family. It is funny how we have abandoned these places, only to try to create chain restaurants and coffee shops to remind us of those places we have left behind. Perhaps this is a sign of our increasingly mobile society where when we move to new places we default to the chain we know, rather than the local place we do not. Either way, each time one of these classic places go out of business a little bit of our identity, our heritage and our past fades away too.