Toowoomba

Four months ago, to the day, the beautiful city of Toowoomba was devastated when a so-called inland tsunami – a massive wall of extremely fast moving water, swept all in its path and inundated the Central Business District.

Toowoomba, which has a population of 90,000 people, and which sits majestically high on the edge of the Great Dividing Range about 700 metres, or 2300 feet above sea level, is about 120 kilometers inland from Brisbane.

People scratch their heads, wondering how on earth such a flash flood could occur so far inland, and so high up on a sharp precipice which is only reachable by a very steep, winding road from the plains of the Lockyer Valley below.

Yesterday, whilst looking out of my 4th floor hotel window in Ruthven Street, Toowoomba’s main street, I could see why. All around me, just out of the CBD, is a ring of hills. Toowoomba, apparently, is situated in an ancient volcanic crater. And the Central Business District of this thriving, bustling city, is smack in the middle.

Several creeks meander through Toowoomba – Gowrie Creek, East Creek, West Creek – and they all lead to a very obvious depression in the landscape. This depression is filled with beautiful parkland, and car parks for the many businesses.

On 10th January 2011, the rainfall was so heavy. The weeks preceding had also had heavy rains. The ground was saturated. The rain that day just bucketed down. It was too much for the normally little creeks. They burst their banks and inundated the city streets, businesses, homes.

Furniture from a major furniture store was floating down streets that were now a 2 metre deep muddy brown, raging and deadly torrent. Within seconds, the city centre was effectively split in two by the swollen and raging creeks that were sweeping cars and four-wheel-drives before it at an amazingly fast speed.

The video footage of this horrendous event was shown on all the TV news shows. Who could ever forget seeing the family of three sitting atop their small hatchback as it hurtled at a great pace down the main street, rocking and bucking, desperately waiting to be rescued. The footage was replayed over and over. People clinging to trees as vans and cars standing on their ends swept past them at who knows what speed. Hands reaching out to hands, people being plucked to safety. And the inevitability of hands slipping away, never to be seen again.

The main western train line that runs into Toowoomba from Brisbane, and then out the other side to service all the towns of the Queensland outback, was cut off because of the track footings being washed out from under the rails, and because of cars that had been smashed hard up against the rail until their brand and make were unrecognisable.

Of course, as we know, this devastating flash flood, or inland tsunami as it was called, was not the end of the road for this massive, angry, rushing wall of water that was hell bent on wrecking lives and homes, of wiping out towns that got in its way, and of eventually contributing to the flooding of the third largest city in Australia, Brisbane. So many lives lost

As I travelled up the Warrego Highway from Brisbane towards Toowoomba, I passed through all the towns and crossed all the waterways that, back in January, had me transfixed to the television. The news broadcasts showed places I knew so well, suddenly non-existent.

I passed through the black fertile plains of the Lockyer Valley whose crops, farms, homes had all been destroyed. Once I got to Helidon, another town that lost many of its homes, and saw the turnoff to Ground Zero – the little township of Grantham – I was surprisingly reminded of a drive I did through the north-west of France and through Belgium, passing town after town with names such as Ardennes, Amiens, Villers-Bretonneux, Ypres.

I remember wondering, as I was driving along the highways of that faraway land, at the marvellous resilience of humankind. To rise from the worst, to rebuild, and to once again live peacefully, even after enduring such horror and losing so many loved ones.

Between Helidon and the foot of the range, is the little town of Withcott, until now famous for the fact that there was always a copper sitting just inside the 60 kph zone as you passed through, waiting to zap you. Everybody, absolutely everybody, makes sure they reduce their speed to 60 kph as they enter Withcott. Well, now Withcott is famous for being one of the towns that was hit with the raging wall of water that spilled mysteriously over the lip of the Great Dividing Range at Toowoomba, and flew down the mountain, wiping out little hamlets such as Postman’s Ridge and Murphy’s Creek. It also tried to wipe out Withcott. As I was crawling through the town – the main highway is the one and only main street of this little farming town – I could see wrecked buildings, all unrecognisable except for a wrecked petrol station which was no longer open for business.

I climbed the range. A lovely dual carriageway of black that winds very steeply to the top that always has large semi-trailers crawling up at snail pace in the left lane, and cars cautiously making their way past them in the right lane, this piece of highway is famous for the fact that the large semi’s often cannot make it to the bottom of the range without losing their brakes and flying over the side of the cliff and into the gullies below. It is also famous for its bellbirds. I remember as a child, we would climb the range in our very old, burnt out VW Kombi Van that barely made it up, and would go so slow that we could easily hear the beautiful call of the bellbirds, our windows wound right down, letting in the glorious sound. But this day, it was also famous for being the carriageway that carried some of the massive wall of water that flew down and through Withcott, then kept going, flattening all that stood in its path, particularly the town of Grantham.

For anyone who has ever climbed the Toowoomba Range, as it is called, you will know the sense of surprise when, all of a sudden, you pop out of the steep climb and into the verdant green, beautiful city of Toowoomba, the Garden City. This part of the trip never fails to make me happy.

As I stand at the window of my hotel room, I see the volcanic crater rim, I look down into the streets that were shown on television, and I shake my head with a total lack of comprehension at the fearful might of Mother Nature. Mother Nature - one minute so generous, the next meting out punishment to innocent people with rage and fury so violent, so unstoppable, that one wonders why.

I doubt anyone will forget that day. To the memory of those who died in the terrible tragedy that hit this beautiful city on 10th January, may you all rest in peace, and may your families eventually find comfort. To those who risked their own lives saving others, thank you.


ABC news footage of the minutes when the inland tsunami hit: http://www.abc.net.au/news/video/2011/01/10/3109884.htm

These photos courtesy http://www.couriermail.com.au/

Journey with a friend

This is my good friend Patricia Sailor, singing her heart out. The plump acoustic guitarist is me, Rani Ratani on electric lead, Teresa Radburn on bass, and Barry Phillips on pedal steel. Pat won the comp that weekend. What a girl. Click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnvOJNbXArU&feature=email

Big love

I cannot let this momentous occasion in my life, and that of my family, pass without acknowledging it. Anderson Thomas Dabrowny came into this world on Sunday 20th March 2011. My first grandson. A beautiful, perfect, innocent, human being.

My grandson, Anderson, has made my heart skip a beat. I cannot believe the depth of love that I feel for him...in such a short space of time. He is still only 2 1/2 days old.

To my little man Anderson: Welcome! I promise to love you and care for you forever.

Nana.

Road map for journey through life

I stumbled upon this. I can't think of a better way of finding my way through life's journey than these directions. See what you think.

Written by Regina Brett, 90 years old, of the Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio . "To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most requested column I've ever written.My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.


3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.


4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.


5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don'ts save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.


26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

42. The best is yet to come...

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Magical Mystery Tour

Magical Mystery Tour

A day trip from London to Liverpool in search of the Beatles

I set my alarm for 5.15am and ventured into a very cold, dark London to catch the tube from Pimlico to Euston Station. I felt very brave setting out into the gloom, but as I had decided to do a Beatles tour of Liverpool, I was keen to get going on my adventure.

On arrival at Euston Station, I had arranged to meet up with the travel bureau representative (I was told to look for the man in the turban) to get my maps, tickets and instructions. I found him in the busy hall of the station and he handed me a brown envelope, and told me I was on my own. This was to be a self-guided tour, but the tour company had organized all my train bookings and I had a pre-paid bus tour in the afternoon to look forward to.

I waited on the right platform to catch the fast train to Liverpool which is about 250 miles from London. The journey from London to Liverpool takes three hours and the train was very comfortable. I took some breakfast bars and a small drink to have on the train and settled back to enjoy the glorious view from my window as I looked out over the gorgeous English countryside bathed in very early sunlight. I enjoyed the train trip very much.

There is a great system of canals in Britain and the train line followed it for miles through towns like Milton Keynes, Crewe, Stafford, Nuneaton. I could see scores of barges and riverboats, locks that village people would open to let boats through, little villages with the canal right in town, houses whose front yards were the canal, I could see old men sitting on the canal bank in the middle of nowhere fishing, farms, cows lined up to be milked, funny little black-faced sheep. I also saw the strange banded cows that I saw in Ireland which are apparently called Belted (or Banded) Galways. They are black with a broad white band right around their tummies. But most were just normal black and white cows (are they Friesians?). The English countryside is very beautiful and interesting. Bathed in the greens and golds of autumn, with quaint, steep-roofed houses, mostly white or stone, lots of hedges and rock walls for fences, and colourful flowers everywhere, I felt truly blessed to be enjoying such pretty English countryside.

When I arrived in the large transit centre in Liverpool, it was as chilly as London with a stiff cold wind blowing. With trusty map in hand I wandered down to Mathew Street which is only 10 or 15 minutes from Liverpool Lime Street Station and entered what they call the "Cavern Quarter" - in other words, the "Beatles" quarter.

As those of you who are old enough would know, the Cavern Club is where the Beatles first played as teenagers, firstly as the Quarrymen, then as the Beatles. The area is shamelessly cashing in on the "Four Lads" as they call them, with Lennon's Bar, The Revolution Club, Coffee @ Lennon’s, Hard Days Night Hotel, Quarry Quarter, Cavern Pub (not to be confused with Cavern Club), and, to thaw out from the biting stiff, cold wind, I had a nice hot coffee in the Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds Cafe!!

There was also a Beatles Shop here, so I ventured in and it was full of the usual types of souvenirs, but they also had some very old memorabilia. I bought a couple of little things thinking it was the only shop in town for me to get some Beatles merchandise. However, further down the lane in a newish shopping complex, I found a much nicer shop with a friendly man and his stuff was very good. Do you remember those awful old brown Beatles Wigs that were all the rage in the early 60s? Well, believe it or not they are a collector's item now (wonder why) and fetch at least 50 pounds.

The lanes of the Cavern Quarter are filled with statues of the Beatles - some good, one dead set ugly - and the main things are the wall of fame showing all the talent that Liverpool has produced who have had number one hits. One I did not realise was a Liverpudlian was the great Freddy Mercury. I later saw the building where they (the band Queen) got their name and logo from. On top of one of the buildings is the word Queen and the logo that they used on their records of the unicorn and crown. Cilla Black, Gerry and the Pacemakers, those Gallagher fellers,Rick Astley, Elvis Costello, Billy Fury and lots of others. Liverpool certainly has produced some great singers.

After a good look around this area (the Cavern and Pub were not open yet and they are filled with memorabilia too so I made a mental note to visit them later), I wandered down to Albert Dock. Walking through Liverpool was interesting. As in all places I visited, there are major construction works. They are on a bit of a high economically speaking and there are lots of roadworks and building going on. A real pain for tourists but good for the area. Liverpool itself is a little hilly, not steep, but enough to give it a bit of character. The architecture is quite attractive with a good mix of old and new. It was founded in 1207 so when I was there (2007) it was celebrating its 800th birthday. It has some nice little grassy squares with statues, some really lovely old buildings and the new ones don't jar the eye like they do in some places. I rather liked Liverpool.

I finally got down to the Merseyside Docklands and the Albert Dock area is just lovely. I kept humming "Ferry cross the Mersey" to myself. The whole area is a series of Docks but this one is a square of water surrounded on all sides by massive old Dock buildings which now house several important museums such as the Maritime Museum. It has restaurants, cafes, nice shops and a big Holiday Inn hotel in the complex. But I was headed for the Beatles Museum (called the Beatles Story Exhibition). I must say it was very good. I spent a couple of hours in there with an audio guide but they also had vision and sound on each exhibit. It traced the story of the Beatles from their birth until the end but did it very tastefully and with genuine items and real things such as their clothes, John's glasses, gold records etc that have been donated by the Beatles themselves and their families. They also had their guitars, rare photos and the exhibition culminated in a reproduction of the Cavern Club complete with a set of Ringo's drums. I liked it.

I emerged into the brisk windy freezing day and had a sandwich in a cafe, after which I went to the bus stop to catch the yellow bus which would take me on the "Magical Mystery Tour". How exciting. The bus was full and they played Beatles music on it and the guide was very knowledgeable and apparently is himself a bit of a celeb in Liverpool as he appears in a movie about them and knows Paul McCartney and his brother Mike. (I later found out that the guide played the character, Phil, in the movie ‘Across the Universe’ which, at the time, had not been released in Australia.)

Our Magical Mystery Tour yellow bus took us to absolutely everywhere, with a very good commentary from our guide. We visited Penny Lane, Strawberry Fields, the birthplaces and houses of George, Paul, John and Ringo, saw their schools, their churches. Our guide explained how the words of ‘Penny Lane’ were really just Paul and John describing the scene they knew so well of this area, a little shopping village in one of the suburbs of Liverpool near their home. ‘Strawberry Fields’ is a large common and the line ‘nothing to get hung about’ in the song referred to John once getting into big trouble for once wagging school and spending the day in the bushy and overgrown park. “Nothing to get hung about, Strawberry Fields forever”.
The bus tour was really great and I loved it. After two and a half hours or more, the bus dropped us back at the Cavern Club in Mathew Street. By now it was open and so I went in and they have the actual stage from the early Beatles days which they rescued from the original (now demolished Cavern Club) and rebuilt it. I sat there on a bar stool, drinking a Bulmer’s Cider, listened to Beatles music playing loudly, and let my mind conjure up the sights and sounds that were so familiar to me from the early sixties.

I was tired now and slowly walked back up the hill from the Beatles Quarter towards Liverpool Lime Street station. My feet hurt from the hours of walking I had done. My train back to Euston departed Lime Street at 6.15 and arrived at about 9pm. I then tubed it back to Pimlico Station and crossed the road up to Matt’s flat. It was a very interesting and fun Magical Mystery Tour day! A great day trip from London that is a little different from the usual Cotswolds or Stonehenge tour. Highly recommended.
Photos coming shortly for all you Beatles tragics like myself.

"Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world

Images of broken light which
dance before me like a million eyes
That call me on and on across the universe
Thoughts meander like a
restless wind inside a letter box
they tumble blindly as
they make their way across the universe

Sounds of laughter shades of life
are ringing through my open ears
exciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which
shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on across the universe

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world"

c. Beatles

A Week in Paris - Day 7

I awake to my last day in Paris. How sad. As I lay in bed enjoying a lazy morning, a rare treat, I allow myself to think back over the last week. I have just loved it and being here for a week has allowed me to get to see not only all the famous monuments and typical tourist things, but I have also become very adept at using the Metro (much easier, cleaner and cooler than the London tube), at meeting and talking to locals, using the supermarkets they use. I feel like I have Parisian blood flowing through my veins.

Paris is a simply magical place. The French people are just great; the food, wine and coffee superb; my French has been most adequate; our Hotel just great, its location could not be better, rooms small but clean and staff most helpful - above and beyond really. I have been getting around on the Metro as if I am a local and hoofing it everywhere. I am sad to be leaving, but as I lay here, I at last get the chance to reflect on just how good my week in Paris really was.

I was able to fulfill another wish, which was to be out there walking early enough to observe Paris coming awake. The very early pre-dawn walk with Matt last Saturday was a special memory. Parisians are not early risers so it was a good chance to see the city yawning and stretching and awakening without the rush and bustle of the crowds. We saw the garbage men emptying bins and people hosing down footpaths. We were spoiled with the wonderful aromas emanating from the bakers and patisserie shops, early workers making nice things - bagels, buttery croissants, tarts, sweet cakes and the first round of long French bagels for early sale to the locals for their breakfast. We saw cats, we saw homeless people asleep on benches. We pounded the footpaths, delighting in the quirky white hands that someone had painted coming out of the sewer manholes. We really experienced Paris from a level that is not superficial, but allowed us to absorb the hum of the city, the day to day awakenings, lunch times, and the bight and lively evenings. Paris in all her moods.

Eventually I wander downstairs for breakfast in the little cavern in the basement of the Cabourg. As I enjoy my meal of croissants and bagels, butter and jam, OJ and yummy coffee, I muse that this continental brekky may not sound terribly healthy to overweight Aussies like me, but I saw few fat French people.

Before heading back up to pack, I stop at the desk for a brief chat with the friendly staff, jump on their internet briefly, and then say goodbye to Nina, the lovely old cat who befriends anyone who uses the internet. Very old but very friendly, he (or perhaps she), during the course of my stay here, got into the habit of sitting on the keyboard as I typed my emails to everyone at home. I used to speak to him in my basic French, but am convinced he understood Aussie too! Au revoir Nina.

I pack my bags, leave the Hotel du Cabourg, and head up the road to the Place de Clichy Metro station, catch the train to Pere Lachaise where I have to change lines to reach Galleni which is where the Bus Station is. Hmmmm, nowhere to stash my suitcase so am destined to idle away three hours here before my bus leaves at 2pm. As all travellers know, it is important to be patient and to get used to waiting. I have books, my iPod, I can buy a sandwich and a coffee. But when it comes time to go to the bathroom, it is VERY awkward with the suitcase. For a start, you need coins to use the toilet. I don’t have any. I eventually ask a leaving user to let me in the cubicle before the door locks again. Then I have the awful realisation that my suitcase just won’t fit in the toilet. I do what all travellers are urged not to do. I leave my suitcase outside the cubicle for a minute or two. What else can I do?

Eventually the National Bus is loaded with luggage and passengers, all set for the journey back to London via the train under the channel. It is another glorious warm, sunny summer day in France and so I get to really see and enjoy the French countryside as we leave the suburbs behind and wend our way onto the highways. On the trip in last week, it was raining heavily and I could not see nor enjoy it. The farms remind me strongly of the Darling Downs after good rain (when was that?), but every few minutes, it seems, we pass gorgeous little villages with steeply roofed houses made of dark brick. There is a cemetery for each little village and each one is dominated by a tall, elegant spire of the village church. Beautiful. Crops seem to be mostly beans, potatoes and big rolls of hay. My mind wanders here as I try to imagine what it was like during the war, for we are in the Amiens area and there are several monuments to the war along the roadsides, mostly as thanks to the Americans and Canadians (alas I don’t see one to Australians but I’m sure there is one somewhere).

The road from Paris to Calais passes through Amiens, Chantilly, Arques, and heads up towards Lille and Dunkerque – right in the top left hand corner of France, near Belgium. As I enjoy watching in the peaceful farmland that glides by, I cannot help but think back to the wars and the horror that overtook these peaceful fields. Trying to imagine the trenches of the First World War in these verdant, picturesque landscape is difficult, and I imagine that this is what it was like prior to the war too. Even in Paris – where the Germans occupied the city and moved into its main buildings – one can see signs which point to a certain resilience in the French psyche that enables them to retain their own sense of identity even after the indignity of being invaded and having endured war in their own back yard. The French people seem fiercely Republican and everywhere (even in our hotel lobby) they unashamedly display their flag en masse.

The coach carries us along the smooth French motorway and a little more than three hours later we arrive at the Tunnel Port at Calais. Coming over from England last week, it was simply a matter of holding up our passports for the Police to glance at. Not here. Firstly several passengers are frog marched off the bus and the rest of us have to sit for a considerable time, wondering when we will be allowed to continue our journey. After about an hour we are told that we all have to disembark, take ALL our luggage (my suitcase, backpack and handbag), line up and suffer the embarrassment of having our suitcases opened, rummaged through and inspected in full view of everyone else from the bus in our line up. I had packed some little piccolo champagnes that Matt and I had bought but not yet drunk. The three people in front of me all undergo major inspections, with everything opened and searched thoroughly. The lady in front of me has all her personal stuff ripped out in front of everyone. I feel so sorry for her as it is embarrassing. The French Customs seem very aggressive to her, making her show her paperwork over and over. They find one small champagne bottle in her suitcase, but also search through her makeup purse, toiletries…everything. I begin to feel a rising anxiety as my first thoughts are that it is champagne bottle which has the Customs interested. My turn, and my suitcase is scanned in the x-ray machine and clearly shows my bottles. In French, the Customs officer asks me about them. I tell him I have three small piccolos, then he surprises me by saying “right you may leave Madame”….YIPPEE. I am relieved, I can tell you. I mean, I knew travellers are allowed to take small amounts of alcohol so I knew I was doing no wrong, but… well, I am glad that is over.

We all eventually file back on the bus. But that’s where we stay for another two and a half hours!! We are told that several passports do not check out. It is hot. There is no toilet (I have become good at holding off for 8 hours or more), and the poor bus driver was becoming agitated as our bus is by now way behind schedule. We miss firstly one train, then another….

Eventually we are allowed to leave – we move literally 100 yards to the BRITISH Immigration – and then are told to alight once more. This time it is just passport checks but, honestly, the manner of the British Customs is really quite abrupt and makes us all quite anxious. I am asked questions such as: Travelling alone are you? Ohhhhh. Where have you been? Just a holiday Madam? How long were you there? Where will you be staying in the UK?

Being an Australian I am allowed through the border gate but not before being thoroughly scrutinised. I once again climb back on the bus, but the same three passengers are detained again. Another hour passes and we wait. It is useless to complain or even to ask questions. I am beginning to worry as at this rate, I will be arriving in London quite late and must make my way down to Pimlico with all my luggage, in the dark. Eventually, our bus is ushered onto the Euro Train a whopping three and a half hours later than it should have.

I finally arrive at Victoria bus station in London at 10.30pm. I sms Matt to tell him I have arrived and then I walk up to Victoria Tube station (2 blocks), to catch the tube to Pimlico and back to Matt’s place where he has a lovely dinner waiting that he had cooked for me.

And so, even though my week in Paris ended in a not so magical way, the memories of this week in the City of Light will live with me forever, or until dementia sets in, whichever comes first.

Au revoir from Paris.