Last day in China

Renee waiting for Maglev to arrive
Top: Coming into the station

Bottom: Heading off to the Airport We had a unique experience on our last day in China. We went out to the Airport on the Maglev. I believe this is the only fully operational one in the world. It must have cost China big very bickies, but not to worry, they are dead set on becoming number one in the world in as many ways as possible. The station itself is very user friendly. The fare was only 40 RMB (about $8 Oz) and the ride was superb. We accelerated for 4 minutes reaching a speed of 431 kph. We then decelerated for another 4 minutes and we were at our destination - a distance of 30 km. There was very little awarenss of change in direction or of speed - except when looking out the window. What a contrast to 45 minutes by taxi.
Top left is view of Putong Airport interior.
I'm not very happy with this post, but hopefully I will be able sort things out better next time,

New beginning

Here I am making a new start on blogging. First up, do I need a new username to go with a new start? “Bushybill” was coined mainly to describe my geographical situation. I had been living for fifty years on my farm, set in hundreds of acres of bush at least one kilo from a road and any other residence. In latter years as my farming, teaching and voluntary activities down sized I saw less and less of other people. At the same time interest in my natural environment increased. I came to enjoy the company of all the wild animals and birds that lived in the bush around my house. Indeed I looked on many of them as friends and came to understand many of their behaviour patterns. Bushybill seemed most appropriate. Now all that has changed. At the end of last year I moved into Mundaring. A country town, almost even an outer suburb. With a few exceptions all the animals and birds are a thing of the past. Even though I am not really a “bushy” any more, I think that I have not metamorphosed into a “towny”. I don’t yet know how my new life will develop, so for the present at least, I will stay with the old username

Autumn Evening

I love these autumn evenings. I am on the patio enjoying a glass of wine and the whole ambience of the day's closure. As the sun sinks below the horizon there are no clouds this evening to be lit up with brilliant colours but the whole western sky is golden and gradually fades away to semi darkness. Although they say it was 36 today, the temperature soon dropped to the mid twenties as the sun as the sun went down. The trees are quite motionless, not stirred today by the sea breeze which often drifts in from the coast 40 miles away about this time of day. Earlier various kinds of honey eaters were having their last fill up of nectar for the day. Now they have all disappeaed with the fading daylight. Some of my magpie friends were here on the patio to eats a few food scraps I had put out for them. They too have gone home- all except for one. He seems to be a reborn Jonathon Livingston Seagull who has discovered that flight is not just useful but also fun. Over and over he powered up to a reasonable height and then swooped down in a graceful arc, with wings outstretched and drawn by gravity back towards earth . Then using all his accumulated momentum he turns upwards and lands with zero velocity on a tree branch. I love this kind of motion. Watching the maggies fly in to the patio is a great delight. Perhaps simulated flight is one of the appeals of ballet. Although their motion is entirely opposite, I like watching the big jets as they fly over my house on their way into Perth airport from the Eastern States. No fun aerobatics for them. They fly straight as a die purposly towards their destination. The reduced power of their engines as they lose altitude reminds me of the thrill of approaching our destination when travelling.
Sunset brings back other memories. Like stretching out on huge rocks at the waters edge, soaking up the last of the warmth that they have absorbed from the sun all day. Suddenly I think of walking through the dusk with my mates, fire flies flashing all round, headed for the open air pictures (aka movies) in Borneo after the war. It was just a screen and a projector box with upturned drums in between for seats. No matter what was on we enjoyed it.
Well it is dinner time now, I guess I had better go inside and perhaps afterwards type this up on Word.

Travel Books

For me travel books always conjured up either Lonely Planet or coffee table picture books. But all that has just changed after reading two books my daughter Helen gave me for Christmas. The first, "The Art of Travel" by Alain de Botton was orientated towards the philosophy of travel rather than travel itself. He immediatly struck me as a deep thinker and a powerful writer. I had not previously come across de Botton but liked his style right from the start and determined to read more of his stuff. I have since discovered that his work is quite popular now. He even has at least one other blogger among his fans.
In the book he doesn't try to be a one man band. He introduced a number of other writers from the classics and gave their perspective on matters related to travel. I particulary liked Ruskin, who in his day promoted drawing as a skill everyone should acquire. Not just to could create nice pictures, but so that they would learn to really see what is in front of them. Reminds me of the great Krishnamurti whose philosophy is encapsuled in the phrase, "See what is."
Wordsworth's contribution also appealed to me. I visited the Lakes District many years ago, but at the time it was all covered in ice and snow. A great novelty for a West Aussie, but not very Wordsworthian. I may get a chance to go again with renewed interest later this year.
The other book, "The Rats of Ravenna" by Michael Guppy, is totally different. It is a day-to-day account of his work and travels in Europe and Africa. Although not my style of travel, I nevertheless enjoyed seeing it through his eyes. I also enjoyed learning something about his work as a biological scientist. Not so different from Helen who is a neuroscientist. I felt that I could write a book like that - maybe! I have been a wannerbe writer for years. After starting to read some blogs it occurred to me his book was rather like a blog. Perhaps this helped to influence me to start a blog of my own.

The zen of block-splittig

Now is the time of year to get in a supply of fire-wood to provide winter warmth later on. The blocks, called foot-blocks because they are cut into 12 inch lengths, have been drying for a year or two and are now ready to be split into smaller pieces with a block-buster. Unlike an axe, a block-buster does not get stuck in the wood. It either splits the block or bounces off ready for another go.

The action starts as I focus on the head of the block-buster as I swing it up in an arc behind me. At the top of the arc I feel a slight stretching of my arms. The force of gravity now takes over as it accelerates the head on its path down towards the block. At the same time I switch my focus to the exact spot on the block that I want to be hit and to the direction of the wood grain in the block. Hitting my preferred strike point and the head following the optimum path into the wood just seem to happen automatically.

A session like this is good exercise, emotionally satisfying and a nice break from more cerebral activity.

Che Guevara

Thoughts about Motorcycle Diaries.
Until seeing this film I was not particulary interested in Che Guevara, but went to see it in order to relive pleasant memories of Argentina. I had the impression that Che, like many revolutionaries, ended up as despotic as those he fough against. However this may well have been a story fabricated by his enemies.
Whilst in Argentina I found that Che, together with Eva Peron, were their modern day patron saints. At Sunday mass the cathedral in Buenos Aires was almost empty - apart from tourists wandering through. Yet the image of Che was everywhere and even after all these years a steady stream of people were paying their respects at Evita's mausoleum.
At the start of the movie, Ernesto seemed to be a somewhat reluctant hero compared to his reckless companion. As their journey proceded, Che became increasingly sensitive to the oppresion of the poor in South America and to the difference beween their lives and that of people like his ex-fiancee's wealthy family. Che's heroic qualities gradually emerged as he traveled on through Peru and Columbia, reaching a peak at the leper colony. Here he showed great compassion for the patients and was not afraid to shake hands and hug them despite their horrible disease. On his last night at the colony the pattern was set for his future life. He left his birthday celebrations with the staff and swam across the dangerous waters of the Amazon to farewell the patients to whom he had shown such compassion . This was an act of sheer bravery, or was it fool hardiness? Is there not a very fine line between the two?

Bushfire

I live`in the middle of the bush (aka forest), so during the hot dry summers we have here, bushfires are seldom far from our minds. Today, thanks to a change in the wind, the air is bright and clear. Yesterday we were engulfed in a pall of thick blue smoke. This signalled that we were down wind from a big bushfire. At times we could also smell it. It was not the smell of dry eucalypt leaves burning which instantly evokes nostralgia in all true Aussies, but the pungent odor of green vegetation burning fiercely not far away. Happily there was no sign of water bombers . Once they turn up you know that the fire is really close. When the wind changes it is good news for some but bad news for others who may be in the path of this new wind direction. Today houses in a nearby town are being threatened. Hopefully none will be lost and nobody will be killed or injured. We will all have to remain on the alert until this fire is finally brought under control.