A Free Man

Since our arrival Down Under, one of my goals has been to run across some of the exotic wildlife for which Australia is famous in their native habitat. Until this weekend, my wildlife encounters have been limited to spotting cockatoos, rosellas and the occassional pigeon from a distance and a couple of unidentifiable furry blurs crossing the roads at night. Well, that all changed this weekend as I got up close and personal with some of the local fauna.

We headed out for a drive on Saturday with some friends. We took off south out of the Adelaide suburbs into the vineyard laden Fleurieu peninsula. For the first couple of hours, my only encounter with any local animal life was this handsome fellow at the restaurant in Yankalilla where we ate lunch. Ever the optimist, I remained to the passenger side window, eyes keenly scanning the passing fields as we headed toward Victor Harbour. I knew that you can occasionally see koalas high in the branches of eucalyptus trees, but I thought that may challenge my aging eyes. Instead I focused on the much less elusive Eastern Grey Kangaroo (Macropus giganteus). As we drove on past more and more kangaroo crossing signs with no sightings I became increasingly disheartened. When Dr. O’C misidentified a goat as a kangaroo for the second or third time, I had about lost faith in the whole search.

So, I think my skepticism was understandable when Dr. O’C spotted this mob (isn’t that a great term for a group of animals) of kangaroos several hundred meters away from our moving car just minutes later. It was nice to see the critters from a distance but I wanted more - I wanted a close encounter.

It didn’t take long for that, as we rounded a curve on the way down to Waitpinga Beach we ran across a pair of gorgeous greys. One of them was kind enough to let me get within about 15 yards of him, with suspiciously gun shaped camera in hand, before he hopped off up the hill. This was the kind of wildlife experience I was looking for here in Oz. Ironically, for the rest of the trip every time we rounded a bend there was another mob of kangaroos. By the time we got home I was pretty much bored of kangaroos.

But our closest encounter was back at the house. Timmins discovered this beauty and tried to inform Dr. O’C whilst she was on a telephone interview, an alert for which she wasn’t entirely grateful. He’s a blue-tongued lizard and I’m hoping that the garden hose as a scale bar will convince you that he’s a fairly hefty fellow. The dog was obsessed, but this particular reptrile’s defense mechanism - hissing and puffing up his body to about double it’s normal size - seemed to be an effective deterrent. Your narrator - fully whelmed.Still on the list - koala, platypus, wombat, dingo and all manner of madly toxic critters. A not-so-close encounter with the latter will be just fine with me.

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“Runway 4, Flight 209
teardrops fall we start to climb
this window seat proved a poor choice
it shows a dream that’s been destroyed

Little baby starts to cry
Hey, I would to if not for pride…”

-Dwight Yoakam - “1,000 Miles”

First leg done. The Orlando to L.A. flight was pretty much a breeze, with the exception that the whole plane reeked of urine due to a broken toilet. Way to go American Airlines!

Dwight Yoakam was on our flight, I saw him getting off and tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, aren’t you Dwight Yoakam?” He looked annoyed and said “What’s left of me.”

Rock and roll.

“All this plane ride holds for me
is a 1000 miles of misery.”

Sanity still largely in tact.

 

 Dwight Yoakam - "1,000 Miles" [4:12m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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“Adelaide
On a plane
Far from the United StatesOf LA
Dropping in from outer space
Takes a day…”

-Ben Folds - “Adelaide”

Tomorrow is the day. The last leg of our trip, the longest and probably the most painful. Orlando to L.A. to Sydney to Adelaide. We’ve managed to avoid, and I’m knocking madly on wood, the horrifying stomach contents ejecting virus that’s been making the round of my family. So if all goes well we’ll at least be healthy for the 30 plus hour trip Down Under

.Pretty much all the anxiety that I should have been plagued with for the last six months has blown in like a hurricane in the last few hours. I’m having sporadic minor panic attacks. This move seems vastly more permanent than the move to Oxford a few years ago. I know that there are flights from Australia as well as to, but I also know that I don’t have another intercontinental move in me. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I have this one in me.

I haven’t a clue what to expect when we finally stagger off the plane in Adelaide. I know that Dr. O’C’s mum has found us a house in a place called Happy Valley. That’s got to be a good sign.Internet access could be sketchy for a while, thus there may be a bit of radio silence here at afreeman.org.

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When I was a younger man I lived in Athens, Georgia and worked behind the counter of a popular coffee house. It was a wonderful job because built into it was the opportunity to meet and chat with the illuminati of the Classic City. One of them, the lead singer of a rock band who shall remain nameless, used to come into my coffee shop when he was in town. He was a shameless flirt and when I crossed his path, he would turn his twinkling blue eyes on me. I was well rooted into heterosexuality by that point in my life so I considered it little more than flattering.

OK, that’s not exclusively true - this guy was one of the biggest rock stars on the planet at the time, so flattery is an understatement. As for my heterosexual roots, I’m not sure how far my protestations and denials would have stretched.

I used to get teased incessantly by friends and co-workers about this incessantly. They would call me Mrs. Rock Star X, they would turn on some of his more suggestive songs as soon as he walked into the coffee shop and so on. One late Friday night I had been drinking in the way I drank, immoderately, at the bar next door. I stumbled over to the coffee shop to try and straighten up a bit. I came up to the counter and asked one of my coffee-slinging colleagues for a perk me up. My barrista buddy started giving me the business about my rock star paramour and, in a fit of frustrated drunken rage, I loudly proclaimed: “I will not fuck Rock Star X!”

The rest happened in slow motion. My friend’s face dropped and his eyes focused on a point behind me. I knew before I turned, but I turned anyway and saw not only Rock Star X, but his manager, lawyer, and another well known chanteuse of the day, let’s call her “Ophelia”. I couldn’t actually tell you the expressions on their faces as I was sprinting in shame out of the shop.

From that point on whenever Rock Star X came into the shop, I would dart to the back and swap with whoever was doing the dishes so I didn’t have to deal with my shame. I did that for months.

There’s a happy ending. One day, whilst I was washing the dishes, Rock Star X poked his head around the corner and said in his inimitable voice, “Hi Chris, long time no see. You OK?” That’s why I still buy their albums even though they haven’t done a great one since 1996.

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There is no point to this story other than to say that “New Adventures in Hi Fi”* is one of the all time best albums for travelers. It was written and recorded on the road and that sense of moving while standing still pervades the record. It is the perfect soundtrack for this drawn out circumnavigation. This morning, I woke up dying - in pain, voiceless except for the muscular contractions that forced out mucus and tore the lining of my throat. My slightly weakened physical state made my defenses just porous enough for that little germ called anxiety to slip in.

And, while my immune system is busy with other matters, that niggling anxiety has multiplied to full borne fear. If the truth be told, I am scared shitless. I mean what kind of idiot moves his family half way around the world with no job and no house. What kind of pater familias am I? Is this all going to crumble around us like an illusion? More importantly can I keep it together? It was one thing when I was flitting around the U.S. in a pick-up truck with a steamer trunk. Wandering the world with a family in tow - well that a whole different box of spiders.

“These corrosives do their magic slowly and sweet
Phone, eat it, drink
Just another chink
Cuts and dents, they catch the light
Aluminum, the weakest link…”

-R.E.M.* - “E-Bow The Letter”

R.E.M.’s essential “New Adventures in Hi-Fi” is available from and Amazon.

* This should not necessarily be taken to imply that Michael Stipe was Rock Star X. The pictures, of course, are just gratuitous showing off of my new toy.

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It’s never as bad as you think it’s going to be.

No part of our trip, from our pre-dawn departure from Sweden in blowing snow to our pre-dawn walk on the beach 32 hours later, was a lot of fun. Neither was it the disaster that it could have been when we got of the ground an hour late on the first leg of the trip or when the flaps failed before take-off from Gatwick. It was long and stressful and rarely comfortable, but it was OK. And Baby Z, as usual, handled it with an aplomb that is foreign to at least one of his parents.

And early this morning, walking the beach before sunrise with Dr. O’C and Baby Z it was a far sight better than OK. It was damn near perfect. I don’t remember the last time that I was on the Atlantic Ocean watching the sun come up. I would be willing to wager, however, that whenever it was I was still up from the night before and probably not as appreciative of my situation. The gray half-light along the slatey Atlantic was indescribable this morning and it was warm and breezy, as were we.

Maybe it’s the jet lag talking, but Florida’s got something going for it.

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Today is our last day in Sweden. We’ll jet off into the dark western sky for another hop over the North Sea. After landing in Heathrow we’re in for what is bound to be a harried race across London to Gatwick Airport - with slightly more luggage than we arrived in Sweden with ten days ago. Assuming that we manage that little jaunt we’ll be headed west again. And south as well this time, to the Sunshine State.

Florida, Florida, Florida - the most soporific of states. There’s a scene in the movie “Primary Colors” when Libby & Henry are driving to Miami to dig up some dirt on Jack Stanton’s new opposition. It’s wonderfully filmed, with the hazy muted colors that are so characteristic of Florida. It is the dialogue, however, that really nails the state of the Sunshine State. Libby speaks with lackadaisical resignation:

“We are in limbo now, Henry.”
“We are outside the mainstream.”
“We are in purgatory.”
“We are lost.”
“Libby, lf you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill myself.”

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But we’re still an ocean or two away from anodyne sunshine. Sweden has been Sweden. I’ve spent more time in Sweden than any other European country and I still don’t really have a feel for the place. It’s a lot like Canada, but with more Volvos and disturbingly attractive people. Most of what I’ve learned on this trip is about myself. I’ve learned that I am nowhere near as patient as I am going to need to be to make it through this parenthood gig. I’ve learned that anything that I do not want hurled to the floor with astonishing speed needs to be kept well out of range of young Z. This includes - but is not limited to - iPods, breakfast, telephones, glasses of Coke, and handheld gaming consoles. I’ve learned that I will never be as entertaining to Zach as kids nearer to his own age. This is true even if they descend on him in a mad, screaming horde like the Vikings from which they are descended.

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One other thing I’ve learned about Sweden, is that they have some great music. I’ve been featuring Swedish musicians over at my music blog for the time in which we’ve been in country. There is an astonishing number of oustanding independent pop bands coming from this not particularly large country. So, they’re good looking and talented. The Swedes are the people I hated in school. Bastards.

Yesterday, I posted an interview with what has become my new favorite band, and the soundtrack for this post, Moonbabies. They are a duo, in life as well as music, from Malmö. The music on their lates LP, “Moonbabies at the Ballroom” is catchy pop with a sauntering, dreamy tempo. If you’re a “Grey’s Anatomy” fan, you may recognize the song I’ve posted below. There’s more of the same on the album which is available from and Amazon.

 

 Moonbabies - "War on Sound" [3:46m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Bob: It gets a whole lot more complicated when you have kids.
Charlotte: It’s scary.
Bob: The most terrifying day of your life is the day the first one is born.
Charlotte: Nobody ever tells you that.
Bob: Your life, as you know it… is gone. Never to return. But they learn how to walk, and they learn how to talk… and you want to be with them. And they turn out to be the most delightful people you will ever meet in your life.
Charlotte: That’s nice.

(From “Lost In Translation“)

The last time we were in Sweden, Dr. O’C’s sister looked after Baby Z for a night so we could get a much needed night out together. It was such a relief - a few baby free hours - that we thought we would try to replicate that experience this time around. We planned to go see the Oscar winning “Once” at one of the city center cinemas.

Well, I’m slightly chagrined to say that my normally flawless sense of direction failed me and we got slightly turned around in the streets of Göteborg. So much so that we couldn’t quite find the cinema. Dr. O’C suggested asking directions, obviously not realizing how laughable a concept this is to any man worth his salt. Our luck seemed to change for the better, however, as we found a second cinema that was showing “Flyga Drake” - the Swedish title for “The Kite Runner“. Both Dr. O’C and I had really enjoyed the Khaled Hosseini book and probably would have gone to see the film earlier if not for, well, you know. We rushed to buy the tickets and almost as an afterthought I asked the clerk:

“It is in English?”

To which she replied:

“Yes, yes, English.”

Dr. O’C astutely pointed out that all of the films for adults in Sweden are in English with Swedish subtitles. Except, apparently, for those that are in Dari Persian, with Swedish subtitles.

I wonder what our fellow cinema goers thought as we slunk out of the theater ten minutes into the film.

Image: I’ve no idea what this statue in the center of Göteborg represents nor what that man is doing with that knife, as I don’t read Swedish. But I love the vandalism/artistic statement.

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“I was dreaming of a steel guitar engagement
When you drink my health in scented jasmine tea
You knifed me in my dirty filthy basement
With that jaded faded junky nurse
Oh, what pleasant company…”

-The Rolling Stones - “Let It Bleed”*

I’ve not got a lot of great photos of Sweden to share with you today because, if the truth be told, I’ve not been out of the house much since our arrival on Tuesday. This isn’t, as you might think, due to the lousy Swedish spring weather. Nope, it’s the continuing struggle to get grounded and settled after our whirlwind departure from Britain. Dr. O’C is doing a little bit better - she’s headed off to a nearby shopping mall today, but your underwhelming narrator - well, I’m still trying to remember whether we shipped or packed my Billy Connolly book.

I did manage a bike ride yesterday. It was sunny and reasonably warm and I was lured out of my bed by the promise of taking Z along with us - his first bicycle trip. I’m a sucker for firsts (and his mother is a slightly erratic cyclist), so I dragged myself out of my state of self-indulgent emotional hibernation and joined Dr. O’C and son for a little ride to Önnered harbour. I’m glad I did, because it was brilliant - a bright sunny day, cycling on well maintained Swedish bike paths with the occasional reassuring tug of my jacket from my little boy firmly strapped behind. Cycling is one of my favorite activities and was my main mode of transport for our time in Britain. Cycling is also great because it allows for mind wandering time and yesterday my brain went into fast forward gear - Baby Z with his first trike, his first two wheeler with training wheels and that fateful day when he pedals off on his own with the realization that he doesn’t need his Dad’s help anymore. Followed fairly quickly by his first crash when, aided by the clarity that comes with skin scraping on concrete, he realizes that maybe he still does - for now.

* Yeah, I know this song has nothing to do with bicycling around a Swedish harbour, but man, The Stones used to be good!

 

 The Rolling Stones - "Let It Bleed" [5:35m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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“Weather man and the crazy chief
One says sun and one says sleet
AM, the FM, the P.M. too
Churning out that boogaloo
Gets you up and gets you out
But how long can you keep it up?”

-The Clash - “The Magnificent Seven”

The fact that we arrived in Sweden yesterday unbruised and still speaking to one another is testament to the strength of our relationship. Our last couple of days in Britain nearly pushed both Dr. O’C and myself over the edge. Packing, cleaning, yelling, selling, screaming, feeding, bickering and all the rest. Monday was the peak of the chaos and strife. We had to finish packing everything that would be coming with us on our extended trip to Adelaide. We had to turn the dog over to the livestock people responsible for getting him Down Under. We had to finish cleaning the house so our landlady would be satisfied enough to return nearly £1000 deposit money. We had to keep Baby Z alive and reasonably happy. We had to do all of that without killing each other. We nearly didn’t make it. Somehow, though we got it done and made it over to our friend’s who had offered to put us up for the night, where we promptly realized that we had far too much luggage. Scandanavian Airlines, our carrier for the first leg of our journey allows 50kg. I think we had about twice that. The chaos continued.

Then, early yesterday morning we were off to Heathrow - still with far too much luggage - for our trip to Sweden and a ten day layover with Dr. O’C’s sister and her family. Thing is we didn’t leave quite early enough. If you will, picture your underwhelming narrator sprinting through Heathrow Airport with a stack of luggage that would make a Hilton blush, Dr. O’C and Zach in tow. The Scandanavian Airlines clerk must have seen something in my eyes that indicated just how close I was to snapping because she didn’t raise the issue of luggage allowance. I plowed through security using Z’s buggy like an icebreaker. We made the flight, but my heart rate and mood has just started to return to normal.

But we’re here and even in a house with two young boys and frequently their friends, cousins and all the noise and mess that accompanies them - things are much more relaxed. Even in a house in which a virtual war can break out in an instant over whether or not one brother has the same Nintendo DS character as the other, there’s a sense of peace and quiet. This is just the first leg of what is going to be a long and stressful few weeks. There are going to be other disasters narrowly averted and challenges nearly failed. I’m going to have to learn to cope with them just a little bit better. Either that or maybe one of you, my readers, would volunteer to raise Z. I mean, chances are the authorities will probably take Baby Z away from Dr. O’C while she’s serving her sentence for murder.

 

 The Clash - "The Magnificent Seven": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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We’re off! Next stop - Sweden.

 

 John Denver - "Leaving On A Jet Plane": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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