A few more city pictures

 Hand in hand with the politics, right down the street as the tram turned west and trails the western edge of the CBD is the Old Melbourne Gaol - the old jail.  Who says all politicians are crooks and thieves…well, in Melbourne, they at least have them residing close to each other.  The Old Melbourne Gaol is where the infamous (he isn’t just famous…he’s IN famous) Ned Kelly was hung in the latter half of the 1800’s./

The tram continues down past Swanston Street, the State Library, and the massive shopping district and train station called, Melbourne Central.  It continues west a block or two away from Queen Victoria Market and it climbs the hill to pass the Flagstaff Garden - the old signal post for the port, perched on the highest point in the city - so the tram rattles and shakes its way past the Flagstaff Hill and climbs the bridge over the Southern Cross Rail yards before cresting and heading down past Docklands Stadium (Originally named “The Telstra Dome” thanks to the state phone company…and hence the large public art projects that look like big strands of wire that curve up and out of the ground…now named Etihad Stadium thanks to the United Arab Emirates Airlines of the same name…money talks, but the Docklands Stadium still stands…with its strands of wire still sticking out - the name changes, the modern art doesn’t…).

At the old Victorian waterfront of the Docklands, the tram turns north again for a brief while, taking the one detour (as much as a tram can detour) off the circular route, it veers up through the Harbour Town Development along the north side of Victoria Harbour.  Up past the apartment buildings, shops, open air mall, and almost all the way to the Ice Center - the home of the Australian Winter Olympic Team, two sheets of ice, and two Ice Hockey teams.

It also passes by the giant Ferris Wheel…under construction (well, already built once) for the last five or six years.

It switches to the other side of the tracks and reverses back out of the Harbour Town area, and back south to the Docklands waterfront.  It passes along Harbour Esplanade, in the shade of Norfolk Pines and Palm trees, through the old docklands and wharves, now converted to dance clubs and pubs, and right past the Docklands Stadium again and the imposing Victoria Point Building, the apartment complex shaped like a giant sail on the edge of the old Harbour.

It continues south past the “urban wetlands” - unlike any wetlands I’ve seen before - and the mass of urban art in the Docklands Park, before turning east again, parallel with the Yarra River.  The bridges - the Web Bridge, Seafarer’s Bridge, Spencer Street Bridge, King Street, Queens Bridge, and the two pedestrian bridges before the mighty Prince’s Bridge - all links the tram lines with South side of the river.

The tram runs past the “Mission to Seamen” - the old Christ centered facility helping the men that come in from the ocean.  Once well placed between the Yarra and the Docklands, it now stands in the center of civilization.

The tram also looks over Bunjoy, the Aboriginal’s spirit creator in the shape of a giant white eagle as it continues to rattle east past the elevated rail lines linking Southern Cross and Flinders Street Stations.  Through the brick construction holding the lines up, you can see Batman Park…not the crime fighter, but the city founder - which marks where the old turning basin (where the river and tide met) which used to turn ships around - this was the original waterfront where John Batman first disembarked from the little sloop to found the city of Melbourne.

The tram rumbles north past my favorite pub (The Waterside Hotel) and up past the old Customs House (and now Immigration Musuem) an back to the almost quarter mile long Flinders Street Station Building where the trip started.

A little over an hour ago - an hour of cramped, smelly conditions, but a great ride nonetheless.

 The City Circle Tram is also known as the “Tourist Tram” - it is called this first of all because that is what it is designed for.  It circles the heart of Melbourne and passes some of the best and brightest of Melbourne’s gems.  It is called the “Tourist Tram” secondly because it is free, so the city sees it as a service to those traveling to the city that want to take in the sights and get around for nothing.

As a two year citizen of Melbourne, I can tell you it could also be called the cheapskate tram, the tightwad tram, or simply, “The Mark” for the same reason.

Hey, I’m not cheap, I’m just not wanting for waste.

But it is also true that you get what you pay for, and though I take pride in my penny pinching ways, other people are just as cheap and just won’t admit it.  There is a reason that the trams look like they are some sort of cattle car.  Though there are seats aplenty, the chance of actually getting one is slim to none, especially if you are a gentleman willing to let a lady sit down first.  There is a constant flux of people getting on and off as well.  The City Circle makes a good twenty stops around the city - perfect for tourists, not so good if you are caught in the cross current of people that try to push and pry their way onto the tram.

The trams on the City Circle Line are old - most of them at a minimum have crossed the half century mark plus ten, some of them perhaps made back in the 1930’s and 40’s.  They have the classic look of wood and metal on the inside, with the doors and trim still classic oak.

But their ventilation remains small windows at the very top of the big windows, allowing a good three inches of air exchange.  If these things seem quaint and rustic, they are…but a quaint and rustic that hauls fifty passengers at a time, ten hours a day, 365 days out of the year.

That is a lot of tourists and cheapskates.

Let’s also talk about the suspension on these things.  Or should I say the complete lack of suspension on these things.  Comfort was a new concept in 1940.  Any suspension that the old ‘W’ class trams were made with have long been rattled out of them.  Turning corners or any bump on the track gets translated into a jolt and rattle of the entire carriage and each passenger.

And being half full of tourists - most don’t see the need of hanging onto handrails until they a planted in someone’s lap.  Which for me, as a single man, it might sounds appealing, but it never works out to be a good thing.

The tram itself has a good route.  If you hop on at the iconic Flinders Street Station, it will take you straight up past Federation Square and past the majestic St. Paul’s Cathedral and the classic looking “The Forum” up to the top of the town - Spring Street, where it turns north to go past the Treasury and its immaculately trimmed gardens and their JFK memorial.  At the very top of the town is the imposing Victorian Parliament building, the big imposing structure looks down over the town…though in the shadow of the equally massive St. Patrick’s Cathedral behind it.  The old Victorian Hotel sits behind it, with its ornate lobby and classic pub “The Cricketer’s Arms” - where I can confess to having a pint or two.

At China town, it veers a bit to go straight north about a quarter of a mile, direct towards the Carlton Gardens and majestic Royal Exhibition Building, where the first Australian Parliament met back in 1901.

 Each of the famous Melbourne Trams is equipped with three devises to take your money.  The first is the classic old school ticket punch.  You buy a card ($31 Australian Dollars for ten two hour punches) and punch it every time you get on a tram.  Good for two hours, it usually gives ample time to do what you need to do.

The second way is a new fangled scanner that allows you to pass an electronic card in a wallet or billfold and it will allow you to pay your tram fees once a month in a pay as you go method.  Quick, easy, and pretty high tech (if and when it works).

The third is a giant coin operated machine that allows you to punch buttons (2 hr?  day pass?  Zone 1?  Zone 2?  Normal fare?  Student?) and put your money into the machines to get a ticket out.

This method sounds easy…but try doing it as the tram rumbles down the street.

So why do they have three methods of payment?  Because the other option is to have conductors on all 487 trams.  People walking around taking money and ensuring compliance.  This archaic method of enforcement went out last century…but just barely.

In 1990, the government tried to get rid of the tram conductors which resulted in a crippling strike that paralysed the city.  It wasn’t until 1999 that the conductors went the way of the dodo bird and became extinct.

But don’t worry, enforcement continues.

Though I’m not normally a miscreant, I must admit, there were days in my younger and more foolish days in Melbourne where I might have…ahem…failed to validate my ticket…

Now this seems like a harmless affair.  But those 155 miles of tram lines aren’t cheap to maintain.  And the fine is a cool $180.

That’s right folks, $180…or about 26 beers at my favorite Melbourne pub (and I’m talking the cheap beer).

But what are the chances that I’d get caught?  Some numbers say that as many as 20% of tram riders ride without a valid tram ticket.

But the enforcers are out there.

My first brush with the law was literally that…a brush.  I was deep into my new cell phone, reading emails and adjusting the setting as I boarded the almost empty tram.  I hardly noticed as the three big men sat down in the seats surrounding me.

As I looked up at the next stop, my face went white…they were Melbourne ticket inspectors.  As I made my way to the door, they made their way to the far end of the train to begin their inspection.

Safe.

About two months later, sicker than a dog, my body ruled against the normal thirty minute walk to work along the river and decided that a quick, warm ride in a tram would be just the ticket.

But do you think I validated.

As I sat there in misery, with my nose running, my throating scratchy, my body aching, very medicated, with my eyes closed a stern voice said to me, “Ticket please.”

I panicked.  Fumbling for my billfold, I pulled out an old tram ticket that I had in my billfold, with 10 stamps all ready, it was all used up.  The Willy Nelson song “Seven Spanish Angels” came to mind, especially the line, “He knew the gun was empty, he knew he couldn’t win…”

And with a stern look, the inspector called his manager over.  He inspected my ticket.

“Where did you punch this at?”  He asked me.

“Southern Cross.”  I replied.  Which wasn’t a lie…that is where I normally got on a tram.

“Printer must be broken.”  He replied, handing me my ticket.

Looking at my ticket…the month wasn’t printed, but the time almost matched perfectly…and the date was the exact same, just a different month.

Good luck or fate, I’m not sure, but I’ve always paid my fare since.

 Moving to Melbourne, the trams were a bit of a wonder and mystery.  Seemingly the perfect form of transportation, but also like nothing I’d seen before, I was wary of them.  Plus, being a man on a budget, I wasn’t too keen to find out what the cost of these rattling contraptions.

Living in the beach suburb of St. Kilda, those first couple of weeks I walked the five miles to the Central Business District (CBD) and the surrounds. The second Saturday in town, I hiked it all the way to the Queen Victoria Markets, then got turned around and managed to find my way on foot in the western suburbs.

With sore feet and a tired body, I managed to make my way to big Stadium - the Docklands, and finally, back onto Spencer Street by Southern Cross Station.

I think it was my first time in the suburb called the Docklands.  The suburb that I’d call home for the next two years.

But at this point, I was only hoping to make it home in one piece.  With a storm bearing down and three miles in front of me, I hoofed it.  I followed the tram line for the balance of the trip and watched one pass me by about every ten minutes.

I was about a mile and a half from town when the wind and rain hit, throwing rain at me like little pellets out of an air gun.

Occasionally, I took shelter in one of the pedestrian underpasses that crossed under the tram tracks. 

I could hear the trams rumble above me.

But darn it, with no change and no money in my pocket, how was I suppose to know how they worked?  In the back of my head, I envisioned some big tattooed goon that guarded the tram.  Once those doors closed, he would be in your face barking for money and if you didn’t pay up, would start working on the deportation paperwork in front of me.

In truth, the consequences at worst would have been $180 fine.  But there was a 99% chance, on that day specifically (the people that run trams seem to have a heart afterall) that I could have ridden that last mile and a half in comfort and warmth.

But I trudged on.  Making it home with my legs aching, my body wet and sore, and resolute that the next day, on Sunday, I’d learn how to ride the tram network and confront that imaginary tram goon and his make believe deportation files.

Walking into the 7-11 (which are everywhere in Australia - I swear when Captain Cook ripped a hole in the hull of his famous ship off Cape Tribulation, he and his men rowed ashore to get water and supplies from the local 7-11) - asked for a tram ticket.  “Where are you heading?” the man behind the counter asked.

“Just to the center of town.”  I replied, wondering if there was a specific ticket for a certain section.

“Ah, Zone 1.”  He replied, handing me a ticket. “Good for all day on the weekends.”

I boarded the next tram that came along…and wondered what I was ever in fear of in the first place. Not a tattooed guard anywhere to be seen.

This was easy!

 Melbourne wouldn’t be Melbourne without its iconic tram network.  Trams, or trolley’s as we might call them in the United States, evokes images of the trolley network that rumbles through San Francisco, one of the last tram networks in the United States.

But folks, San Francisco is child’s play next to Melbourne.

Over 155 miles of tracks, 487 trams, 30 routes, and 1763 individual tram stops managed to haul an amazing 183 million passengers last year.

That is one complex transportation network.

And if you don’t believe the numbers (average of 500,000 riders per day), speaking on behalf of tram riders throughout the city, the system gets used.  The lines crisscross the city.  Hundreds of people jam onto the trams during the height of rush hour each morning and each night.  Thousands of people crowd the special trams that wait outside of special events (Aussie Rule Football games, Rugby matches, Australian Open Tennis, Concerts, The Melbourne Grand Prix) to take spectators from the center of action to either Southern Cross Station or Flinders Street Station - the transportation hubs for the city.  They are fast, efficient and well maintained.

And they have to be…

The most iconic of the trams are the old “W” Class trams.  They are the trams that comprise the free fleet of twelve trams that circle the city, the ‘tourist’ trams.

These trams…some dating from the 1920’s…are still in use every day.  The city still owns a whooping 230 of these hard working antiques.  12 of them work every day in the tourist trade (like the greeters at Walmart), 200 of them are in retirement (but like the people of that generation, still willing to pitch in and get the job done should they be needed) and thirty of them…well, thirty of them are still earning their keep day in and day out on regular service hauling people through the city.

These trams run on parallel tracks that pass through and across hundreds of Melbourne city streets.  Above them, a grid of electric wires pulse power through the streets and keep the trams running come rain or shine.

All those tracks do cause some consternation for international drivers, well, even for Australian drivers from outside of Melbourne. The infamous Melbourne Hook Turn.

Because the trams run down the center of the street, there is no center turn lane to make a right hand turn (remembering that you drive on the left side of the road in Australia).  To cure this driving malady, the Melbournians devised the either ingenious or psychotic hook turn.  Which means you get into the left hand lane to make a right hand turn…

You read that right folks.

Get as far into the right hand lane as possible, wait for the light to turn red, then make your turn across four lanes of traffic.

It sounds chaotic at best, disastrous at worst, but in truth works like some well-oiled choreographed synchronized automobile waltz in the middle of downtown.

You don’t become a true Melburnian until you can master the infamous hook turn.

Sometimes, pictures speak louder than words.

 But our trip to see the rice was thwarted once again.  See a center pivot turned on is nice, but not the funnest part of the ordeal, that is to see the water run through the turkey nest and the canals.

And we just had to see that.

The turkey nest is a big manmade dam, cut deep into the clay, with high banks allowing them to hold a great deal of water on a pretty small amount of land.  Pipes bring water in from the canals and send them out to the pipes to the pivots.

It is a pretty ingenious system.

We checked to make sure everything was working to get the water to the pivot, continuing the basic lecture in irrigation.  As Matt quizzed Mark and Tom on the basic workings of it all, they inspected a big rubber pipe that had a nasty bulge in it and sprayed a little pin prick of water out onto the ground.  I clamoured to the top of the turkey nest.  The water down below looked cool and deep, but again, the view from the top was impressive too with the brown pastures contrasting with the green alfalfa, corn, and sunflower fields and thousands of sheep stretched out across the paddocks grazing.

Back into the utes, and off to the main canal, here is where they get the water to service the entire farm.

Where the main canal links into their smaller canal, a small water wheel slowly spun around, marking the amount of water that was flowing through to the farm.  There was a small counter and transponder on it, so that they would be charged for the correct amount of water they pulled onto the farm.

The wheel, slowly turning, with the gushing water coming out the other side was calming and hypnotic.  We sat and watched for a while in silence.

“Give me some beer and I could sit out here and watch this all day.” Matt said.

And I think we all agreed with him.  But we had a rice crop to see just down the road, which is what our original plan was about an hour and a half ago!

Seeing a rice crop was going to be a new experience for me too.  I’d raised corn, wheat, alfalfa, soybeans, millet, sorghum, oats and barley and have seen plenty of other crops, but this would be the first for rice.  Which is something of a mystery as rice is the third largest cereal crop in the world after corn and wheat and is the one of the largest staple foods for big sections of the world’s population, especially in Asia, which is very handy for the Australian rice producer, more than half of the world’s population eats rice at least once a day.

But it was pretty evident when we approached the field that this wasn’t an ordinary crop that we would be used to.  There were dikes about three feet high surrounding the field and in strips down the length of the field, about fifteen feet across, making long, wide bays, each bay held about a foot of murky water and the rice was waving over this little inland lake. 

The rice plant itself looked little different from wheat, it was a grass that had a head, though the heads were bigger and where the seeds were forming was more rectangular. 

The water in the bays wasn’t sitting still either.  Each bay was slightly higher than the one next to it and there were gates separating one bay from another and allowing water to pass through, this kept the water from getting stagnate and kept a slow but steady flow of water through the entire paddock.

On the far end of the field, on the very last bay, the water was collected and pumped back up to the top bay.  It was a very complex and involved process, but a sight to behold.

Overall, pretty efficient use of water.  And it should be, Australia has a history with rice.  The first rice mill was fired up in 1951.  Australia knows how to grow rice.  By 2000, they planted almost 450,000 acres and harvested over 1,600,000 mts, but the impact of almost ten years of drought had an impact.  By 2010, they planted 50,000 acres and harvested 197,000 mt, which was actually an improvement over the prior year.

While I’m no expert at rice growing, it was a pretty impressive crop.

As long as the ducks didn’t get it.

 It was another classic Australian brekky, fried eggs, thick cut bacon light on the fat, heavy on the meat, toast and some fried tomatoes.  Our taste buds loved it. I can’t say the same for our arteries.  But we dug in with a vengeance anyway, because, well, it was darn good.

Over our after brekky coffee, Mark casually asked, “Well, what is on the agenda for today?”

“Anything but another crop tour.” Requested Stacy.

“No we don’t have to see any more crops today.” Matt said.

“What about rice?” I asked, jokingly.

“Well, I’ve never seen a rice crop, I guess that would be ok.” Stacy replied.

“Hey, you should take them down to see that paddock about 15 k’s up the road.” Mark replied.

:Yeah!  Another crop tour!” Says Matt, who gets an exasperated look from Stacy.

Tom goes to work getting the boat and equipment from the day before hosed off and ready to be put away while we pack our bags.  We all gather out in the farmyard.

“Well, while you guys are out looking at the rice, I’m going to go and start the pivot.” Says Mark.

“Oh Cool!  I want to see that!  Can we see them start the pivot?” Matt asked Stacy like a kid on Christmas morning.

Stacy rolls her eyes and says, “I guess I get to see corn again.” And finishes with a laugh.

Matt jumps in the lead ute with Mark and the rest of us follow in the ute right behind.

Some people are just born to farm.

We drive back out in the paddock, it is a beautiful Sunday morning with a light blue sky and the sun shinning.  We dive right into the dense corn with the leaves and cobs hitting the sides of the ute and splashing through the mud and water before coming to the same open circle that we came to the day before.

Starting the center pivot should be a pretty simple process, flipping some switches, starting the generator, getting the water flowing, and letting her fly.

But like anything on the farm, it is never quite as easy as it is billed.

Mark gives us a little lesson in starting the irrigator, then fires up the generator with cranks to life.

Literally.

A big old rat comes running out of the little tin shed that provides some shelter for the generator and runs right for Stacy and me, we both make a startled jump much to the amusement of the rest of the crew.

For the record, it was a big rat.

The problem is, the irrigator isn’t moving. 

“It must be stuck somewhere out there.”  Mark tells us as he scales the center pivot to get a look to see which one it is.  Not to miss out on the fun, we scale it with him.

It is amazing to see out over the corn field and to the fields beyond.  The irrigator reaching out across the circle of corn, the farmstead in the distance, the open fields mixed with trees and sheep.

Mark climbs down to move it forward and back to get it unstuck, and we can tell from the top when it finally breaks free (the unnatural ‘dent’ in the line finally gives way).

Mark heads back to the farm while Tom, Matt, Stacy, and myself make the trek to see the rice field.

“Glad I wasn’t going to have to see corn today.” Stacy said with a laugh.

“Well, you did get to see some wild life.” I replied.

“I’m not sure a rat counts as wildlife.” She replied.

 Matt was a good sport, but his arms were done.  He ceded the rope to the next taker.  I passed.  Which meant Stacy was up next.  The last hope for the Americans.

It was a repeat of the prior preparations - the life jacket, the calm instructions and the quiet anticipation.

Then the face plant.

This wasn’t looking good for team America.  But Stacy took it well too - and was keen to give it a second try.  She had grown up in western North Dakota but had experience with knee boarding.  She was our best hope.  And on the second try, she didn’t disappoint.

We pulled away from the sandy bend in the river and it looked like she belonged out there.  She managed the current, the trees, and the snags in the river like a pro.  She swung back and forth down the Murray River under the shade of the gum trees and the wings of the cockatoos swarming overhead spiralling up and away as the boat passed.

We found a nice wide spot in the river to turn around Stacy wavered a bit, but hung on like a pro.  On our way back down, some men fishing for the mighty Murray Cod cheered her on.  As we approached the sandy bend in the river, Mark turned the boat slightly and Stacy let go of the road, one final, graceful move before coming to a wet stop just short of the sandy beach, tired, sore, but triumphant.

Tom was next up, and though he lamented the fact that it had been some time since he’d been up on skis, he put the knee board away and pulled out a single water ski.  I don’t think any of us believed his comments about being out of practice. 

Let me explain, Tom is an athlete, and not just any athlete, he is a very good one.  He played footy, Australian rules football for you Americans, and was a top performer.  Even now, he still plays on Saturdays during the season and still manages to be one of the best performers on the field.

So it was no surprise when, with his Dad Mark at the helm, he popped out of the water looking like a natural.  Both seemed at home and like naturals.  Mark behind the wheel, navigating the snags and currents of the river, Tom expertly working the wake and currents.  It was like a symphony of man set in the quiet solitude of nature.  It was great to see the skill of both, and the pride in the face of the father at his son jumping the waves behind him.

We found the same wide spot in the river to turn around as we did on Stacy’s ride and made our way back to the sandy bend, and it was back to the fishing poles and a few more beverages in the cool of the Australian evening.

Too soon, we were packing things up and getting ready for the ride back.  We passed a small fishing boat and Mark hollered over, “Any luck today?”

The man proceeded to lift up a gigantic prehistoric looking fish with a tired but smug look on his face.  The fabled Murray Cod.  We all gave him a hearty cheer.

The boat slowed up as we worked our way back into the landing.  We made our way to the bow and jumped into the soft, oozing mud of the Murray.  Father and son worked the trailer into the water and positioned the boat on.

Grabbing the last beverages out of the eskie for the ride home, we enjoyed a beaut of a sunset in the Riverina Region of Australia.  The bread basket and the old heart of the sheep industry. 

All in all, a good arvo on the Mighty Murray, the lifeline of Australia.