Geelonging

It was a day of peering and piering, a day without peer courtesy of the piers. But first was getting to Geelong, losing track of time going down the old lanes and tracks of back country Victoria.

Australia’s road system is similar to any car-centric society. There are A class roads, i.e. newer highways connecting major cities (e.g. Warrnambool to Geelong), and B classified roads, usually the old main road with only two lanes. Note, both types have roundabouts at major intersections. And then there are the C class of roads, old country paths of travel, with one lane of black top at the crown going down the middle, and gravel sideburns.

We took, or were taken, down the Robert Frost C roads.  It was an exceptional treat of slowing down, seeing and smelling, almost becoming part of what we were passing through. The flocks of sheep with new born lambs wobbling along, vast pastoral expanses, and fields of canola so bright and yellow that it brought Van Gogh to light and life.

Geelong is the locale for one of the Deakin University campuses. The main Burwood city campus is in Melbourne, and there is our rural one in Warrnambool. Geelong is a regional campus in between the two.  Actually, it is a bifurcated campus, with an inland one on the outskirts of town, and the other down by the water facing a deep water harbor opening out to the Tazman Sea. The Waterfront campus occupies a repurposed woolen mill. (See Fletcher Jones post).

Ann and two colleagues, Bernie and Julie, were going to Geelong for a meeting. I was going to visit where the ocean and land meet. I was a very welcomed guest that day.

It was hot, and quite sunny. So first thing I did was go to the student union and find the all important communal free suntan lotion. Slip, slop, slap followed. And then outside.

There was a long commercial pier just across from campus. My guess is that originally it serviced the woolen mill. Now it was largely a car park for a restaurant at the end. There was both a covered and uncovered pedestrian path the entire length, and I wandered in and out of sun and shade to the far end.

At the jumping off point I approached a Journey To Ixlan moment.  With a leap of consciousness I was off across the wide expanse of water to the far distant hazy lighthouse and on out to see. (For those Hilton Headers in my life, think of the Tybee Island Lighthouse and imagining where it may take you.)

If I reeled myself back in, I had a pleasure boat harbor about a hundred yards off to my right, a carousel and bayside playground behind me, and a promenade walkway disappearing to my left into an old, seemingly retired commercial fishing zone. I was hooked on the space and place of the moment though, and stayed out at sea for quite awhile. 

Ultimately I was called to the playground area, and the path leading to and through the commercial zone. Both were very lively. I cannot recommend enough grounding one’s travels with memory push pins of playgrounds. It prompts a wonderful mix of past, present, and connectivity to our future.

The quai side path through the semi-retired sleeping marina commercial area led to another walking wakening moment.  Listen….old boats, empty nets, and faded signs tell such wonderful stories. Once again a slowing down that ever so quickly takes me to Deschamps Marina in Stone Harbor, to south Burlington on Lake Champlain, to wandering the backside of Marseille, to the here and nowness of present imagining.

I came upon an old seemingly unused pier, and accepted its invitation. Its spine was thin and rickety, but still ramrod straight, an old soldier standing guard over the tide. We had a lovely chat until I was called back to shore by the current of time to go home.