The Little Things

Journalism is all about the details. An amateur piece is filled with description but doesn't say anything. A good piece shows the big picture but misses subtle elements that stir readers’ emotions. A great piece includes meaningful details so people both learn and feel something when they read it.


I try to notice details all the time. Anyone who has walked with me knows I’ll stop several times to say, “Look at this,” “Feel this,” or “Hey, what’s in here?”


I’m always looking up and down and around because I know there’s more going on than what’s in front of me.


These are just a few of the tiny things I noticed on bushwalks. In the city it might be architecture or people that make me stop and look. A lot of times it’s a pastry display.

ANZAC Day Part 3

Once I’d gotten a few hours’ sleep following the dawn service, I was ready for another Anzac Day event. I didn’t make it to the traditional Anzac March in the city center that morning, but I figured the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders march would be better to attend anyway. I’m taking an Indigenous Australia class here, which discusses the mis- and under-representation of the Aboriginal community.

The Aboriginal march began at The Block in Redfern. Redfern is an inner-city neighborhood in Sydney with a large population of Aboriginal people, and unfortunately it is also poorer and associated with crime. Redfern was the site of riots in 2004. It’s also conveniently the closest train station to my house. I know to be careful walking back at night, but I’ve never felt unsafe during the times I’ve been there.

Anyway, I was glad to go to a positive event in Redfern associated with pride and tradition. Many carried Aboriginal and Torres Strait flags.


These two girls were cute imitating martial arts moves with their flags.


Something striking about the event was the media presence. I’d have to say there was one reporter or photographer for every actual participant. It’s great that the press was covering the event, but it was sad how few people from the wider community attended. Of course many had already been to the dawn service and the parade and at this point were getting drunk before the rugby game. But still.


Just for fun, here's an Aboriginal hip hop song that I gave a presentation and wrote an essay on a few weeks ago. The video for the song features the guys driving through Redfern.

ANZAC Day Part 2

Dawn isn’t something I see very often. The hours between 2 and 6 in them morning are usually off limits for me. But today, my dedication to the exploring Australia cause possessed me to set an alarm for 3:10 a.m. to go to the ANZAC Day dawn service at the Sydney Cenotaph.


I walked to the bus stop where two old ladies were sitting. I bet they’d be fun to talk to. After 10 minutes of waiting for the bus, I spoke up. “Well, I guess I coulda gotten a little more sleep.” The women told me they never went to bed. Instead they stayed up watching “Cape Fear” and whatever else was on. They each had sprigs of rosemary, which I had read was important to Anzac day. They couldn’t tell me why exactly rosemary was significant, but they said poppies were important too. The one woman broke off a piece for me and the other offered me a pin.

They joked about bringing a flask to the service. I told them, “Oh, no, I’m going to get in trouble with you two.” The one responded, “It’s good to get into trouble now and then,” and said something about it making life worthwhile.
Another ten minutes passed and they started to complain about the bus being late.
“I’m starting to lose my sense of humor.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous. The paper said it was supposed to be here. We rang up to check and they said it’d be here.”
I said I’d be happy to share a cab with them, but they weren’t interested. “No, love, we’ll just go back home if the bus doesn’t come. We’re getting tired.”

A group of students who had come from a night of barhopping joined us at the stop.
“I don’t think the bus is coming,” one of the women said. “We’ve been waiting for 40 minutes. It's absolutely ridiculous.”
The bus came five minutes later but was so full it didn’t even bother to stop.
“Absolutely ridiculous. Let’s go.”
I told them I’d pay for the cab if they wanted to come.
“It’s not about the money, dear. We’re just cranky at this point.”
“Yeah, we’re going to call and complain.”
“First person who picks up, we’ll let em have it.”

So the women left and the group of kids hailed a cab. There were four of them so they couldn’t fit me in their taxi, but they decided to split up so I wouldn’t have to pay the whole fare myself. During the ride I learned they went Sydney Uni with me.


We arrived at Martin Place just after 4 a.m. The street was packed and there was no way to get anywhere we might see anything so we just listened. The MC introduced Prime Minister Kevin Rudd and other important attendees. The service began with a hymn and a prayer. A general gave a speech, which was followed by more hymns.


Rain started to fall and everyone’s umbrellas went up. Now I really had no chance of seeing the band or choir up front. The service closed with the New Zealand and Australian national anthems, which I had never heard before. Listening to thousands of people sing the anthems just before sunrise was a great experience.


My new friends, who had been up all night, offered me to join them on their ride back to campus, but I decided to stick around for a little since I hadn’t actually seen anything during the service. As people cleared out, I moved toward the cenotaph monument where some were laying wreaths and flowers.


I watched the bagpipe players play.


And pitied the journalists who got stuck with the Anzac story — the same story written every year, which bonus! has a 7 a.m. deadline. It was amusing to watch them fight for quotes from the oldest veterans.


I decided to walk back as the sun came up. It was a good idea until I was 15 minutes away and contemplating how comfortable it would be to curl up on that curb. I finally made it back in bed just after 6:30 and slept until 10.

My final Anzac Day story will have to wait for another post.

Scones and Going Where You’re Not Supposed to Go

I approach life as if I’m always carrying a press pass. To find the story, you just gotta get in and start talking to people.

Yesterday Becca and I went up to the Great Hall on campus hoping we’d find a wedding in progress. It’s this beautiful Gothic building commonly used for receptions, and we’ve got this little project going on involving wedding photos. We see a man out front in a suit and tables of scones and tea behind the building. The organ swells and we wait for the happy couple to exit. But there’s no bride and groom, and we notice some people don’t seem to be dressed for a wedding. We're still very curious about the town car out front bearing an Australian flag and the royal crown instead of license plates.

As people clear the hall, I move closer and closer to the door trying to figure out what was happening. Becca is hanging back and I’m on the steps peering into the Hall. An usher, uh, ushered us in and handed us programs. He explains this was a reception for Dr. Catherine Hamlin, who founded a hospital in Ethiopia to provide free operations for poor women who have suffered injuries from giving birth. The fancy car was for Marie Bashir, the governor of New South Wales and chancellor of the University of Sydney. She’s the first woman to govern NSW and the first Australian governor of Lebanese decent.

The usher tells us this was a charity event with $50 tickets so he couldn’t “formally invite” us for refreshments. Of course, in my opinion, cordial invitations are optional. Becca and I began fanning ourselves with the glossy programs and moseyed on over to the scone table.

Wiping the jam and cream from the corners of my mouth, I suggest to Becca that we talk to some of the other guests. I don’t think she knew I was serious. (She’s only known me for a month.) The fact that we hadn’t been to the reception and couldn’t tell you a thing about the woman in whose honor it was held wasn’t going to keep me from conversing.

I turn to a little old lady and ask if she knew where we could set our finished plates. She didn’t know either but, noticing our accents, asked where we were from. We got to talking and a few of her friends joined in. The women all went to the same church, which raises money for the surgeries at Hamlin’s hospital. When they asked why we were at the event, we offered something vague like, “Oh, we just found out that it was one of the things going on around campus and thought we’d check it out.”

One woman, Jane, told us about her dessert parties that have provided funds for 19 surgeries. After hearing that we were studying abroad from the States, she said she we should talk to her daughter who will be spending next semester in Montana of all places. Before we knew it, Jane was explaining how to take the train to her neighborhood and saying if we called her when we got to the stop, she’d pick us up and bring us to the house. She mentions dinner or bbq, and all of her friends tell us what a great cook she is. Another says, “When Jane invites you over, she means it.”

Well, when an Australian invites me to a new part of town for dinner, I’m not going to turn her down. We get Jane’s information and make tentative plans to go to her house near Royal National Park, which I imagine is pretty classy.

And I thought the scones would be the high point of crashing the reception...

Let's get lost

I love to explore. It’s part journalistic intrigue and part kindergarten-like fascination, but I really get a kick out of discovering the world around me. And the best way to find things is to get lost.

There was the time I wandered off the hiking path and found a tree denoting the Exact Center of Los Angeles. In New England, some friends and I got off at the wrong bus stop, traveled down Purgatory Chasm Road, and found ourselves at Flo’s Clam Shack. Last year I took an aimless walk in Missouri, found a dry creek bed, collected seashells and hitched a ride back on a mule-led carriage.

Now I’m off to Australia. I’ll stay a few days in Melbourne, then study at the University of Sydney until the end of June with some trips around the continent in between. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to get call-the-consulate lost. I just want to see new things and meet interesting people.

I’ll use this space to write about my explorations, whether they culminate in the discovery of some great spot in the city or just an amusing story. I’m bound to make up some words in the process.

Enjoy.