German by birth, Australian by choice

 

 

There's a story of a conversation Bill Clinton had with Edward de Bono when they were both in Hong Kong. Bill asked Ed his opinion of what in an ideal world the perfect nation would look like.

De Bono replied, "It would have an ethnically diverse population of twenty to twenty-five million people. English would be the national language. It would be religiously and economically liberated, have a democratic form of government and a vigorous free press. I'd locate it somewhere along the Pacific Rim. It would have a young history and an optimistic outlook. And a generous climate that lent itself to encouraging all its people - rich or poor - to enjoy the wonderful free gifts nature has to offer".

"Sounds wonderful", Clinton wistfully remarked. "What would you call it?" he asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't change its name", De Bono replied, "'Australia' will do fine".

Apocryphal or not, De Bono is right and I, like him, love Australia. I'm not saying it is perfect. We, too, have to put up with lying politicians, nasty neighbours, occasionally stifling bureaucracies, sometimes even bad weather, but nothing could ever persuade me to return to the northern hemisphere.

 

 

I am German by birth, Australian by choice - and happy with both.

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The Lost World of the Kalahari

 

Vic, the volunteer worker in Vinnies who looks after their second-hand book section, always keeps some books that he thinks may interest me. Yesterday he surprised me with a whole box full of Wilbur Smith's. "I thought you may be interested since you lived in Africa", he said.

Wilbur Smith may be a good writer, and I have read two or three of his earlier oeuvre, but my Wilbur-Smith days were over when I realised that he took those two or three early bestsellers and threw them into a meat grinder hoping more magical sausages would emerge. Of course, more sausages did come out but they were neither magical nor digestible.

 

 

If I want to read about Africa, and about the South African apartheid, but in particular about the Kalahari and its bushmen, I go to Laurens van der Post, a South African Afrikaner writer, farmer, soldier, educator, journalist, humanitarian, philosopher, explorer and conservationist, who wrote well over a dozen books on Southern Africa, including "The Lost World of the Kalahari" which was also made into a six-part TV series.

The also well-known movie "Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence" is based on his book "The Seed and the Sower" which describes his army service when, as Japanese forces invaded South East Asia, he was transferred to Allied forces in the Dutch East Indies (today's Indonesia) because of his Dutch language skills. On 20 April 1942, he surrendered to the Japanese and was taken to prison camps, first at Sukabumi and then to Bandung.

He died on 15 December 1996, aged 90, in London, England, and is buried in Philippolis in the Free State province of South Africa.

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No shoplifters at Vinnies

 

Every man has his price but that price would have to be very low for him to be tempted to shoplift a two-dollar book from Vinnies.

I gladly spent another ten dollars this morning for "A Modern Selection of Johnson's Dictionary", "The Howard Years" edited by Robert Manne, "Worst Words" and "Death Sentences", both by Don Watson, former speech-writer and adviser to Paul Keating, and - oh, what a find! - the third of Yuval Noah Harari's magnum opuses, "21 Lessons for the 21st Century" (yes, I agree, a person would only have one magnum opus, but believe me, he has three: "Sapiens", then "Homo Deus", and now this.

 

Read it online here

 

I already have both Don Watson books, but these are for the bookshelf inside "Melbourne" for me to dip into every time I feel like reading about the sorry state of the English language and what we can do about it.

I also bought a beautifully crafted globe of the world, about the size of a soccer ball, which I quickly paid for and took out to the car before Padma could stop me by saying, "But we already have one in our living-room" which is true, but this one is also for "Melbourne" where I can look back on all the places I've been to before I became stuck at "Riverbend".

And this is it for another two days until Thursday when we go back into town for another aqua-aerobic session in the lovely warm-water pool.

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Goodbye, Banjar Hills Retreat

A nightly view from Banjar Hills' terrace restaurant towards the lit-up coastline far below

 

I discovered Banjar Hills Retreat in the foothills of northern Bali in 2006, and I've visited it ever since. Often I was the only guest staying in one of its four beautiful bungalows. Just me and a few good books and fine food and drinks in total peace and privacy!

 

Click here for a look at Banjar Hills Retreat on GOOGLE Map

 

The retreat had changed hands a couple of times and was bought by a bunch of Australians from Canberra at about the time I discovered it. They were absentee owners who found it difficult to make the place pay its way, so when in early 2014 a German couple offered to lease it from them for two years, with an option to buy, they quickly accepted.

 

 

The German couple, all starry-eyed, explained on their since-gone-off-the-air website how they had always wanted to turn their back on Germany and how they had immediately fallen in love with Bali and Banjar Hills Retreat and how they wanted to stay forever (I saved the German text here).

 

 

Nothing is forever because less than two years later, in early 2016, they handed back the keys and returned to Germany. Their farewell message, written in German, read something like this, "The time has come to say goodbye to Banjar Hills Retreat. It's been two years and a beautiful experience. Beautiful weather, beautiful scenery, beautiful fresh seafood, friendly, smiling people - in short, everything Germany is not. And yet, we were surprised how fast our initial holiday mood was replaced by the monotony of everyday life as we had to deal with utility bills, traffic police, and government bureaucracy ..."

 

Click here for more photos

 

And they continued, "... We wouldn't have missed this experience for the world but have to admit that there are many things that still tie us to Germany: its culture, excellent health care, stable social and legal system, boundless opportunities - to mention just a few. What we have learned from our Bali experience is that people the world over want the same: happiness for themselves and their children, a fair chance to get ahead, and a safe place they can call home. We also learnt that even a simple life can bring happiness, and that a sense of family and helping each other and meeting even strangers with a friendly smile are more important than material possessions. We've learned all this in Bali and we hope we won't forget it. Nothing is forever, not even Bali, but no one can take away our wonderful memories. Thank you, Bali, and goodbye!"

 

 

The Australian owners have since closed it and sold it off which comes as a bit of a personal loss to me. After having serendipitously found it all those years ago, I had come to regard it as my own piece of Bali.

 

Just reading books, looking at the sky, listening to the song of birds ...

... taking a swim at any hour of the day or night in the pool
(or in the ocean which is a short, death-defying bejak-ride away)...

... or enjoying an hour-long massage by my favourite masseuse, Ketut Anggreni (for the equivalent of a minibar Coca-Cola). Leisure with a capital L - a slob's holiday!

 

Arriving finally at the peace and quiet of Banjar Hills made the five hours on a bus from Riverbend to Sydney, the ten-hour-wait at Sydney airport, the eight hours sitting in a metal tube breathing recycled air, the fight through the hell of Denpasar airport and the bone-shaking drive over the mountains to the north of Bali all worthwhile.

 

 

No tourists, no television, no a la carte meals, no regulated swimming pool hours, no minibar which transmogrifies a can of Coca-Cola sold for 3000 rupiah at the local 'warung' into a ludicrous $4.50 (plus service charge).

Goodbye, Banjar Hills Retreat, and thanks for the memories!

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P.S. ... and for another walk through the village of Tegehe, click here.

 

Walk into Paradise

 

I spent last night in a contemplative mood watching an old movie, WALK INTO PARADISE. It hasn't much of a storyline but the New Guinea Highlands scenery is wonderful to watch again and again!

As my old friend Noel used to say, "My spiritual home will always be New Guinea". He said it as he tried to settle at Caboolture in the late 70s, and he said it again after he had moved to Mt Perry west of Bundaberg, and he was still saying it in Childers where he passed away in 1995.

After having spent his whole working life in New Guinea, Australia had become a foreign country to him. As so many others (myself included), he had become a lost soul after leaving New Guinea. We hadn't gone there for any particular job but for the country itself which offered something for everyone, be he missionary, moneymaker, or misfit.

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Where is Anthony Greenham now?

 

What I like about a second-hand book just as much as the book itself is its "provenance" - a word I picked up from the BBC's Antiques Roadshow without understanding its full meaning. What I know about this beautiful volume of Lawrence Durrell's "Prospero's Cell" is that it was read by an Anthony Greenham on a flight from Sydney to Cairns because he had placed this boarding pass as bookmark between the pages 112 and 113, just before the end of the book and presumably just before his arrival in Cairns.

 

A whole morning's worth of memories, all for just two dollars
(For Des who is unfamiliar with literary allusions, click here;
unfortunately, by explaining it, it ceases to be an allusion)

 

"Prospero's Cell" was Lawrence Durrell's love letter to the island of Corfu and this book and its "bookmark" bring back not only happy but also warm memories of Corfu and Cairns on a cold morning like this. And it reminds me of the Durrells who lived on Corfu between 1935 and 1939.

 

 

Cairns had been my jumping-off point every time I came down from New Guinea to Australia, and Corfu was the place where I fell in love with Greece. And so will you if you read "Prospero's Cell" or, on a less literary level, watch the BBC's delightful comedy-drama "The Durrells In Corfu".

 

 

What would I be without all those memories? And where is Anthony Greenham now? "... we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."

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The Midsomer of the Far South Coast

 

There are days when it feels as if I'm in Midsomer, the only difference being that we have better memorial services. I almost didn't attend today's because I'd had an agreement with the deceased that I would only come to his funeral if he came to mine. Clearly, he has reneged on our deal.

Anyway, he had not only chosen the time and place of his own death - even though the taboo word "suicide" was not uttered once during the service - but also the method of his "disposal": a very hands-on body-in-box, box-in-hole, earth-on-top "Beerdigung" instead of cremation which leaves one wondering what happens after the curtain has been drawn.

To dispel the sadness that descends after such a morbid start to the day, we went back into town for a bit of retail therapy. Padma seemed to have got carried away - literally - because I couldn't find her anywhere. Then I remembered the age-old advice "Should you lose your wife start talking to an attractive woman. Your wife will miraculously reappear almost immediately." I did and she did! Now we're home again. Phew!

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I voted with my feet

 

Last Grave at Dimbaza is a 1974 documentary film made by South African expatriates and British film students who wanted to document Apartheid in South Africa. Because of South Africa's restrictive laws governing what could be photographed, the film had to be shot clandestinely and smuggled out of the country, where it was edited and released in England.

The film highlighted the disparity in living conditions between white and black people in South Africa, revealing that this has been enshrined in numerous South African laws. While white people enjoyed one of the highest standards of living in the world, the lives of black people were carefully circumscribed so that they enjoyed few rights with no legal recourse. Most lived in poverty.

The closing scene of the film was photographed in a black children's cemetery in the town Dimbaza. Because of the high mortality rate, the film shows graves that have already been dug in anticipation of the newly deceased. The final words of the narrator are:

"During the hour you've been watching this film, six black families have been thrown out of their homes, sixty blacks have been arrested under the pass laws, and sixty black children have died of the effects of malnutrition. And during the same hour, the gold mining companies have made a profit of £35,000."

I found apartheid inhumane and abhorrent and voted with my feet when I left South Africa again in early 1969. Has anything changed? Colour apartheid has been abolished but the economic apartheid continues.

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Mixed feelings and mixed metaphors

I always do a GOOGLE (re-)search on every inquiry I receive
and I know which one of these chaps is the prospective buyer

 

I am interested in seclusion. I am going overseas for two weeks. Will contact on my return" wrote the latest respondent to my 105-day-old real estate advertisement. As I wrote in a previous post, there was a time when I would've wished him a safe journey but I've now become a hardened real estate salesman and didn't even reply. I think it's called "playing hard to get".

Playing hard to get has or has not worked, depending on your point of view, because, not having had any reply from me, he emailed me again to get my phone number as he wanted to talk to me before he left.

Only a few minutes later the phone rang, and we had quite a long conversation which went from the practical (does he have the money? yes, he is a cash buyer!) to the personal (he does consulting work for people such as the World Bank and is off on another trip to Bangladesh).

Reacting to my usual email footnote "I would like to acknowledge and pay my respects to the British and European elders past and present and emerging, who introduced civil society and prosperity to my adopted country Australia", he had already penned me this reply: "Agree with your sentiments expressed below. My family dates back to the mining and agriculturalists who developed this country in the 1800s the hard way, and two family members died in the Great War protecting our burgeoning civilisation as a country. It's not the same country I was brought up in and my grandkids seem not to care; it’s a tragedy. Australia was once a fantastic country, our stupid politicians should have realised how unique this country was and should have developed policies to keep it that way; instead they went open field and allowed this country to go to the dogs as has America, UK and most of Europe. Such a pity."

With all that out of the way, it became something of a meeting of the minds as we had done similar work, and he wanted "Riverbend" for the same reasons I had chosen it more than thirty years ago, but, using mixed metaphors, I don't want to count my blessings before they hatch but will burn that bridge when I come to it because I have some mixed feelings as we don't even know where we would go if it came to a sale. To unmix my metaphors, I'd be feeling like the dog that caught the bus.

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Friends in High Places

 

It was early 1976. A few months earlier I had resigned from my post as Chief Accountant in Rangoon with the French oil company TOTAL - Compagnie Française des Pétroles. Twelve months behind the "Teak Curtain" and under the dictatorship of U Ne Win had seemed long enough, and so I took up a posting in Tehran under the dictatorship of the Shah of Iran.

'Out of the frying pan and into the fire' is the best way to describe this particularly ill-fated move and I left Tehran again soon afterwards, but not before I met up again with René Pain-Savanier, graduate of the 'École des hautes études commerciales de Paris', who, as TOTAL's 'chef du service du Contrôle à la Direction Financière' in Tehran, had been highly complimentary of my work during his visits to Rangoon and also in references written some years later.

 

 

M. Pain-Savanier's home in Tehran was pure Parisian elegance and chic and, on the two or three occasions when he and his charming wife Odette entertained me there, he never failed to express his regrets over my decision to leave TOTAL.

As it turned out, the Shah was forced into exile in Egypt in January 1979. Soon thereafter, the Iranian monarchy was formally abolished, and Iran was declared an Islamic republic led by Ayatollah Khomeini. Westerners were forced to leave, and René returned to France from where he once again sent me a flattering reference together with an invitation to visit him in his retirement home in the south of France.

 

 

I reflected on all this when I found a notice of his funeral on the internet. 'Chevalier de la Légion d'honneur' no less, the highest French order! It's good to have had friends in high places, and he's in an even higher place now. Rest in peace, M. Pain-Savanier! My life has been richer for having known you.

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I'm no longer advertising our property - I am advertising the fact that it has still not sold

Advertisement

 

After 105 days on the internet, "Riverbend" is still for sale! Not that it bothers me nor did I spent much time on the twenty-eight inquiries I received so far. "Thank you for your inquiry. The asking price is $3.5 million" is my usual reply.

I deliberately do not publish the price as this would unnecessarily date the advertisement should I ever have to drop the price because the internet forgets nothing and any previously advertised price will still be visible and make a later price reduction appear a little too desperate.

 

 

Unlike previous inquirers who went silent as soon as I had told them the asking price, the latest from someone who, from what I was able to ascertain through my internet searches and in the parlance of a formal bank opinion, appears to be "possessed of assets", resulted in a more positive "I am interested in seclusion. I am going overseas for two weeks. Will contact on my return" response. 105 days ago, I would have wished him a safe journey but I've now become a hardened real estate salesman and didn't even reply. I think it's called "playing hard to get".

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