Here we are in New South Wales
Shearin' sheep as big as whales
With leather necks and baggy tails
Fleas as tough as rusty nails.
- From the song Lime Juice Tub by the Bushwhackers

G'day mates. With finally a long bus segment en route to Byron Bay, I have the chance to update you on some of the business of past days. With an arrangement finally secured with the choice blokes at Oz Experience, I'm now bussing on their coaches in exchange for the photography I take along the way. This allows me to travel cheaply and also get a few run-ins with the less traveled locations.

For instance, the last few days I've spent some well-needed time out of the urban jungle of Sydney and into the bush. I've managed to stay at a few campgrounds, spot some kangaroos, and throw some boomerangs, tasting the touristy sucruse metaphors at their finest. Despite such cynicism, it has been an introduction to what I would argue is a more charismatic and cultured segment of Australia, in comparison to Sydney.

Although Australia often receives due criticism for its treatment of the native indigenous population in the past, I do believe that there is also a broad awareness of these travesties, and as a result, a deeper respect and acknowledgment. And, as a result, recently Australians have begun to absorb aboriginal values into the fold that is their distinct culture.

One hisotrical event that might explain why this has developed in Australia was the cyclone that hit the developing port city of Darwin many years ago. On Christmas Eve it rampaged through the city, mas o menos destroying everything and killing many white settlers. When anthropologists finally came around to asking the aboriginals nearby what they remembered of that day, they remarked that they were relatively unaffected, since they had recognized from the unusual behavior of hawks and ants that a powerful storm was coming, and had subsequently moved inland three days before. Perhaps this was one small event that helped Australia recognzie that its native culture had something to be proud of.

Years later, one of fhe distinctions that sets Australia apart from many other places is a widespread respect for their environment and how we inevitbly encroach upon it. You can see signs of this distinction everywhere. Even in towns in the bush, one can see telltale signs of environmental care, as evidenced by heavy taxes on bottles and cigarettes, and the ubiquitous toilets that, as well as flushing in the opposite rotation, offer you the option of flushing with half a tank or a full tank. For the icing on the cake, over the next couple years, Australia will create the largest manmade structure yet built, which is essentially a narrow tower full of solar panels. And, around the same time they'll create the first power plant to run off macademia nuts, and generate equal power to most coal-burning stations. And, if you're flying to Oz anytime soon, know that $3.40 is added to every ticket for "noise pollution". Et cetera.

In any case, after fleeing Sydney, I took the Ukabarley Aboriginal tour, which was run by a retired schoolteacher, who although had no aboriginal blood, had become fascinated with the subject after discovering ancient rock paintings on her property. She introduced me to some of the ochre paintings that have miraculously preserved for thousands of years on the local rocks. In discussing these drawings, my first hands-on dive into aboriginal culture, I began to realize the complexity of what has been lumped into the subject of indigenous traditions. One has to consider that regional differences are often pronounced, even alongside some customs that are relatively consistent, such as dreamings - stories of creation, as signified by natural monuments. I suppose this shouldn't surprise anyone, since Australia is nearly the same size as the United States, which bustles with its own variety of consistencies and contradictions.

Another interesting hypothesis that my tour guide had was that Australia owes some of its diction and even its sense of humor to aboriginal connections. She cited the legend of how kangaroo became the name for the iconic animal of Australia. Apparently, Lieutenant Cook asked a group of aboriginals north of present-day Sydney what the animal was called and they replyed with something like "kangaroo". However, as the theory goes, "kangaroo" to this particular group translates to "What did you say?" - they actually had a different name for them. Later on, Cook would return to Sydney and refer the magic word to another group of aboriginals, and to them, the word meant "meat" as of the tasty kind. Naturally, ask Cook unloaded various stock like sheep and goats and cows, the nearby aboriginals pointed at each one as it passed, declaring each one as "kangaroo". So the legend goes, if it has passed down the grapevine to me unchanged.

Nonetheless, if you have a land where a huge mountain range is called the Bungle Bungles, I suppose it's not too wild of a connection to say it's influenced the name of the shop Didgie Ridge's Meat Pies. Or was it Ridgie Didge? It is, of course, mixtures such as these that fit the temper of our curiosity in an age where the most profound of humors are found within the irony of the idea of local things, because even those as 'stralian as a meat pie shop, are actually mixtures between English and Australian Aboriginal, and therefore mixtures indeed most global.

Such as the mullet phenomenon, a haircut that's cut short and orderly upfront, and grown shoulder length in back - or perhaps more descriptively described as "all business up front, all party animala in back." In any case, the trend of the mullet, which took America by storm in the 80's and early 90's still lives on in some small towns of the outback.

Or more locally, the word which has now become the subject of many a jeer, is and always has been simply the name of a tasty local ocean fish. Mullet fush and chups anyone?

Secondly, take for instance, the town of Gralfast, NSW, in which the entire town enjoys the constant propogation of their local favorite tree, the Jacara, which, having visited at the height of spring, treated me to a fine display - imagine a town in which at least 50% of the trees were a vivid blooming explosion of purple. Those are the Jacaras of Gralfast, an otherwise forgettable smalltown/fastfoodstop. Of course, it turns out the trees are actually "native" to southern India. Let it be said however that if nativity is decided upon by how much a community cherishes what is surounds it, the Jacara is most undubitubly 'stralian.

Of course, one can also grasp a more cynical and face-value side of aboriginal culture by witnessing some of the poor drunken fractures of society along the streets. Or perhaps in an American-made slot machine trying to capture some semblance of the Aussie market, by titling their machine: "Indian Dreaming." Slightly off the mark, but enough to be commercially viable. I've been surprised also at how similar the Blue Mountains of New South Wales (so named because of the bluish haze caused by the photosynthesis of Eucalyptus trees) resemble the Adirondack Mountains I've come to know so well in New York State.

Driving along the northern edge of New South Wales, the Oz Ex bus passed by the Myall Creek Memorial, made in 2000 in respect to the 35 aboriginal elderly, women, and children that were massacred without provocation by some bored white miners in the late nineteenth century. Such killings were common; what makes this one memorialized was simply the fact that it was the first time that white settlers were convicted of crimes against aboriginals - four were subsequently hanged., although many more were involved in the terrible acts. Perhaps most sobering of all is the realization that this location is only famous because of the convictions - thousands more were likewise murdered throughout Australia in those dark days, and do not have such recognition.

Into this huge and curious continent then, have I finally released my longings for Argentina, though it still remains close to heart. I speak Spanish with those few on the bus that can, and keep the great memories at bay. The bus heads onward towards the coast, where I hope to find a way to Boobera Lagoon, the home of Rainbow Serpent (at last, the lake monster connection for the day!) Legend has it that the lake is the resting place of this very important serpent. Four years ago, with the help of the Catholic Society, local community members succeeded in creating legislation to ban the use of motorboats and jetskis on the lagoon, which had previously been a popular tourist locale. This is a fascinating and relatively unprecedented victory for the forces of local culture versus touristic gain, and I hope to learn more about this once I arrive in Brisbane.

Till then, good on y'all.