Chapter 44 : The Blue Mountains (Monday)

Monday

Breakfast is displayed the same as previously but there is a difference. Everybody has less food on their plate. The diminishing breakfasts. The days of gluttony are over. I go for what I feel will be good for me.

There is a dark cloud hovering and I hear, “When travelling with such a large group we need to drop the car off; put petrol in it; walk to the station; make sure everyone has a ticket.  I’m getting stressed about everybody meeting the train and the plane.”

I now imagine all the things that may go wrong. I’m worried.

We arrive at the station very early. Walk in Katoomba to a 100 year old café. Not open plan. Redolent with character.

The dark clouds have followed us, “I knew it was going to be like this. They are taking ages. How long does it take to make a cup of coffee?”

I ask, “What should I do?”

“Eat it quickly.”

“I can’t do that. It hasn’t arrived yet.”

“You’ll have to take it with you. I’ve got so many things to worry about.”

“If I worry about it will it change the speed at which it comes?”

“No it won’t. That’s what I ‘m worried about.”

The scones and coffee arrive. I sup. We walk back to the station and wait for the train.

The train glides smoothly. In The Quiet Carriage an announcement says, “No loud conversation. No loud music. No loud phone calls.” The train flows smoothly through the trees; no bumps; no obstacles. The carriage is as quiet as its name says. I can’t hear the engine or the clickety clack of the wheels.

We pass a highway. Every car on the highway is unique and not linked or joined to any other car. Every car is going on its own unpredictable journey. On the train we are connected. Together we pass a rock wall. Who cut this track through the hills? What were they thinking? The train effortlessly glides towards Sydney. On and on and on. Even the stations don’t interrupt our flow. They stop us temporarily without any interruption to our journey. We flow onwards and downwards.

On the train I hear conversations behind me. I try and listen. I can’t decipher anything. But I keep on being drawn back to the jumble of voices.

We arrive in Sydney and meet with the three sisters in a park at Circular Quay. We need lunch and we head off up the street. I know everybody will have an opinion on food and where to buy it. My opinion is to walk down the street then enter and buy from whatever we see.

At Circular Quay our trip to the Blue Mountains is finished.  We leave the three sisters and The Three Sisters.

Chapter 43 : The Blue Mountains (Sunday)

Sunday

Breakfast room is crowded. Everybody is on an “all you can eat for breakfast” package and everybody aims for their money’s worth. Lots of big breakfasts. Some people survey the cooked food before plunging in.  It is possible to have a nourishing, healthy, enjoyable breakfast or an unhealthy pile of junk.  Everybody has a choice and nobody is assessed on how they do. Not initially. Maybe in twenty years’ time a heart attack will be some sort of judgement.

The young well-dressed staff hover. They noiselessly keep the bay maries full of food. They swoop on cluttered tables and clear away dirty plates and cutlery.  Quietly and without comment. They do this as we go back for more. 

We are off to the scenic railway.  The departure place is crowded with glum tourists who are controlled and managed by glum Red Coats.  The Red Coats look like they have heard and seen it all before. I’m challenged to say something they have never heard before.  I approach the nearest Red Coat and ask her, “What happens when we see an elephant?”

“What?”

“An elephant.”

She can see a set-up and smiles as she says, “Run.”

I can see another Red Coat and I approach and earnestly ask him, “What do we do when we see a lion?”

“On the train?”

“Yes what do we do?”

He grins broadly and says, “You won’t see a lion.”

He now has something to talk about after he has finished his shift. We move from a cable car to the scenic railroad and back to another cable car.  We are in a crowd of compliant tourists. The Red Coats tell us where to stand or sit and when.  One announcer says the trees below us look like broccoli.  Later another announcer tells us to look down and when you see something that looks like broccoli it is actually trees. In one of the cable cars there is a final bump before we stop. A man yells out, “Unbelievable.”  The crowd laughs. He wins and gets all the bonus points. What he said was unscripted and far funnier than anything I said.

At tea I am told, “You’re looking tired.”

Somebody else also tells me I’m looking tired.

I’m upset because they are focusing on me because I’m old and have been sick. Bloody hell. I’m just tired from a busy day. And proud of it. Proud of my tiredness. 

Chapter 42 : The Blue Mountains (Saturday)

Saturday

I walk in the bush. I decide if breakfast is creative or shows imagination then the Bulldogs will win. If there is any asparagus, eggplant, spinach, corn fritters, kippers or anything slightly different the Bulldogs will win. It will be a good omen.

Finish walk in the bush. We enter the dining room and I examine the bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, sausages and scrambled eggs. I turn to Mrs C and say, “The dogs will lose. Sydney to win. I see a bad omen.”

Everybody else loves the predicable breakfast. No imagination. No creativity. It is reliable and dependable. Everybody is food focused. “I’ll have more of that. I’m going to have this.”  Greed dominates. There seem to be more children. It’s their time of day. It’s their meal.

After breakfast we tour the Blue Mountains. Three sisters look at The Three Sisters.

They all look solid, predictable, hard and reliable.

We go to a hotel room to watch the match. The room is spacious containing couches, chairs and a bed. Food is dry biscuits, dips, square cheese, pieces of meat and Twisties and other things to nibble on. Drinks are beer, wine and apple cider. I go for a cup of tea. The room is full of people. How many?  If I count the legs and then divide by two I will find out. Everytime I try this I get a nonsensical answer. Something is wrong with my counting.  

I don’t want to watch the match because:

The Western Suburbs of Melbourne were an incredible important part of my parents’ lives. Thy lived there for about 160 years. That was their life. Being a person from the Western Suburbs. And I am reminded that they are no longer there. They no longer live in and support the Western Suburbs. They are gone.  That’s sad.

When I worked my patients incessantly talked about football. They all knew I supported the dogs. They used to ring up and leave messages for me about the dogs. Comment if they had done well or badly. I would follow the matches so that I could talk in a reasonable informed way. So that I could give the impression I knew what had happened.

And now that connection is gone. I don’t have to be able to talk football. I don’t have to follow a team. I’m now out of it. I’m now retired. I no longer have to comment on football. That makes me feel sad. I am not in society. I am out of it. Drifting aimlessly.  The match is a reminder of what I am not in. I have been sick. I don’ work.

And I don’t live in the Western Suburbs. I used to. I am no longer a part of it. I don’t have the ethos or attitude of the Western Suburbs.  I can’t celebrate or commiserate surrounded by similar peoples. It was a part of my life but my life has changed. I have to support a team but I am not emotionally involved. I’m not committed the way I was when I lived there.

I do watch the match and I do want the Dogs to win.

At ¼ time the match is close. I feel the Dogs are playing well. They are in it. So are the Swans. To me the match is partially visible through mist. In the last ¼ the haze starts to lift. It becomes more and more apparent the dogs will win. We are on top. The closer and closer it gets to the final siren the more and more obvious it is that we will win.  And the final siren blows and players and staff at the ground celebrate by hugging and jumping on each other and slapping each other. In our room there is a small amount of hugging, dancing and singing but I’m just not inclined. I don’t know what to do? Surreal is the word. My mind goes back to a wet Saturday afternoon in 1969 watching Footscray play at the Western Oval. I didn’t watch them trudge off and think, “One day, when I turn 60, I will sit in a hotel room in the Blue Mountains and watch the Bulldogs win their next premiership.”  I never had such thoughts.

I don’t know what to do except comment on the bulldogs’ ethos. The attitude used to be, “It will never last.”  The creed used to be that we had good players, if not the best players but we would never win the flag. The creed was always that we needed a certain player to rescue us; to deliver us. Now the Bulldogs have genuine confidence. They have a good coach and captain. A coach that doesn’t yell at the players when they make a mistake. A coach who helps his players play well.  The club seems more inclusive, more family friendly, more female friendly. A female vice-president. One of the best female AFL teams. They seem more sensitive and caring than the old days. 

And I hope they continue their new normal and don’t overdo their celebrations. I hope they celebrate and then get on with things. Don’t show off or lairize. Don’t criticize opponents. Enjoy themselves and then get on with life.

Matt says, “That’s a good birthday present for you.”

It is but there are more important things and I say, “Not the best present. The best was my resurrection.”

From the floor something moves and mumbles, “I just heard the last bit where you said erection.”

I repeat myself, “I’m talking about resurrection not erection. I’m saying my resurrection was the best present ever. “

I am standing tall, straight and full of pride but resurrection is the word I’m thinking of.

Chapter 41 : The Blue Mountains (Friday)

Thursday (the day before)

My suitcase is empty. What do I need to pack? I need this, this and this. I pack and then ask Mrs C, “What do I need to take with me?”  Then I pack again. Then I say, “What don’t I need to take with me?” Then I unpack my suitcase and pack again.

I need to take what I forgot last time. What was that? I can’t remember what I forgot last time. I know it was something.

Friday

Wake; press the microwave; watch it turn; remove heated porridge; wait 45 mins for lift to airport;  watch TV. The host is wearing a Bulldog’s scarf.  He holds up a newspaper with the headline “Every Dog has its Day.”

In the lounge at the airport I am worried. What about? About the food here and on the plane. There will be no escape. Junk will be all around me. On the plane the menu glares at me from the pocket in front of me.

Behind me are two miniature adults. Wearing head phones and belts. They are transfixed by their screens. Staring motionless at their screens.  They don’t hear the inflight announcements. I can envisage comments about how well behaved they are.

A stewardess pushes a trolley into our area. She bends and tells me about drinks. A background hum becomes louder when she talks and stops me from understanding her. Where did that noise come from? It’s now everywhere. As she slowly pushes her trolley down the aisle I think about the last film we saw. About an airplane crash and called Sully. In the film the stewardesses saved people’s lives. They controlled them and helped excavate them from a floating plane.  They looked after the sick. Their moment had arrived.  They were needed and they responded. Not here. Here their main concern is how to arrange their hair and how much to charge for a coffee and muffin. I wonder if they have seen the film and if they admit they are jealous of the stewardesses who had the ultimate plane trip.

We fly on and the plane shudders. Turbulence. I look out the window. Is the turbulence going or coming? We fly through it and onwards. The turbulence disappears. The children are oblivious. They have all flown before. Nothing is exciting to them. Nothing is new. I remember the corn thins in my bag.  Relief. Now I can enjoy the flight. Food is no longer an issue. I don’t have any concerns. If I close my eyes I will try to wake in Sydney.  I will try and make time disappear. How do I do that?

Time is dragging very slowly. The terminal is far away. The only way is not to think about Sydney airport. Not to think about landing. To enjoy the moment. To live in the present. I spend my time looking at the backs of heads, listening to the noises, smelling the plane. And we suddenly arrive in Sydney.

At the train station people are striding towards their future. Pass the cabinets selling water, soft drinks, chips and chocolates. We protect our suitcases while waiting for the right platform and the right train.

We are on the train to Katoomba. The train smoothly glides up the hills. Hillier and greener. At Katoomba we cross the gap and walk towards our hire car. Pulling our suitcase and thanking the man who put wheels on the suitcases. We pull our suitcases up and down the hilly streets. Along smooth footpaths, bumpy footpaths and grassy pavements.  No straight flat roads that give you a distant view.

The hire car is a minivan.  I sit back and somebody else drives and navigates.  Up and down and around the hills; always thinking there must have been a better way. A more direct way. But there often isn’t a direct way. The shortest way is often indirect and scenic. With views of cliffs and mountains and valleys.

We arrive at Fairmont Resort. They are doing wine tasting in the lobby. A man is pleased as he says, “You can buy them.”

I see a couple of kids who think they have died and gone to heaven. There are multiple games rooms for children.  Electronic or not. And outside are pony rides, a merry go round and other children activities. There is a very hot pool, chockers with children and their parents.   I have never seen a place where so much space and money was spent on organized structured activities for children. And outside if we wander away from this resort we will come across some spectacular bush walking trails. At times in the bush you can find peace quiet solitude and enjoy the natural wonders. In the resort you can put money in a slot and win a game.

Dinner is a large dining room accompanied by the ominous instructions, “All you can eat.” I approach with trepidation and are surprised. Food is tasty, healthy and everybody is happy.