Without water

A water main in my sister's neighborhood must have burst. After a loud glugging sound, she was stranded with a mouthful of toothpaste. Because I am lucky enough to be spending the night at her house, I get to share in this adventure. The neighbors say this happens every time there's a big snow, but I haven't been here for any of the other occurrences.

About this time last year I was basking on Australia's beaches in smothering heat and, ironically, was also without water. On Christmas Eve, and again on New Year's Day, the water tank at our vacation home ran dry. The lack of rain finally caught up with us and, despite our conservation efforts, yielded not another drop. The family with whom I was living and vacationing had friends bring water from the tank at home. Meanwhile, back at the beach, we drank soda and put off bathing.

Trying to brush ones' teeth with a limited water supply is initially a thoughtful process. But, tonight I realized the familiar effort must have become a habit for me while I was living in Mozambique. Water could not be taken for granted when the supply was only as sure as the rain or as reliable as the infrastructure.

In each of these lands, it took only water to teach me humility. For without it, we are all just thirsty, dirty humans. And there is something refreshing about seeing that clearly, even if only for a moment.

In the time its taken to write this, running water has been restored. Toilets flush. Cups are filled. Faces washed for bed.

Would that every night cap tasted so sweet.

Work to do

If it weren't for the newspapers, television and radio, which spur conversation even between strangers, you might not know that, across the state, 26 fires are still raging ... unless you caught a glimpse of the smoke-lined horizon. But on a cloudy day, even that is obscured.

I write this to explain that I am in no immediate danger. I write this to confess that, in many ways, I sit as helplessly as any distant observer. And life roars on.

We have work to do. At our office this means phone calls, emails and event planning. But first we pause and pray for those with much, much harder jobs: treating burn victims, identifying bodies, investigating a devastated town now classified as a crime scene for suspected arson.

Emotions reach new depths, from anger at those who chose to destroy, to compassion for those reaping the destruction. Survivors are offered emergency housing, medical treatment, and free legal advice. Donation stands receive canned food, clothes and toys. From counseling to mobile phones, free goods and services spring from a seemingly bottomless well.

And yet, the ache must be insatiable. For the father who saved his house but lost his family, for those that watched the water tower boil as the bush disappeared, for the parents of the teenage sisters who died trying to save their horses, no gift will suffice.

This is so much worse than Australia's typical bush fires, I've been repeatedly told. A co-worker said we should remember that many countries experience this degree of devastation far more often. But, surely, no one ever gets used to it.

Half-mast

The death toll ticks higher and is expected to surpass 200. Nearly a thousand homes have been consumed. The weather has cooled considerably, but eight fires still rage uncontained.

I know many of you are witnessing footage in your own homes and don't need me to testify to the horror. But, every time I try to send an update to assure you that I am okay, I am overcome by the stories of all those who are not.

At the office, where I work reception, I took a call from a man in Queensland where 60 percent of the state is flooded. He dismissed my concerns about the water, which he said would soon recede. But fire, he said, destroys everything.

He expressed his concern on behalf of those in his state, who have their flags at half-mast, even though the government hadn't asked for it. They are in national mourning, he said. Much like that caller, I feel helpless in the face of what Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd has referred to as, "Hell and all its fury."

I continue to be safe but heartbroken. Entire houses disappear in three minutes. Fires jump freeways, scorch paddocks and trap those seeking last-minute escape. Livestock, livelihoods and lifetimes of labor are in ashes. The weight of human loss is immeasurable. The stories of survivors, such as those crouched in a gully and covered by only a wet sheet, are nearly unbelievable.

Fire

Smoke clouds the sky in my neighborhood, again, but we've received no evacuation notice. A frightful combination of gale-force winds and Melbourne's hottest day on record: (46 degrees) has bred blazing bushfires across central Victoria, where I now live.

In the next few hours the encroaching cold front will bring not only a nearly 30-degree drop in temperature, but also a change in wind direction, which only complicates the spreading danger.

The TV remains on for Channel 7 news updates. Weather maps relay dark-blue zones that would usually mean rain. But instead of relief, the radar is detecting patches of thick smoke. My powerless observation reminds me of tracking tornadoes in the central U.S. and typhoons in Japan. This time I'm monitoring the raging fires that leap several kilometers and multiple in neighboring suburbs.

Although my household appears to be in no immediate danger, I've learned a bit about fire-readiness in the last half hour. I'm hopeful I won't actually have to fill the gutters with water, douse the exterior brick walls or get in the bath tub and cover up with a wool blanket. I really doubt it will come to that. I doubt I'll ever get the evacuation invitation: flee now or stay and fight.

In the nearby hills, beyond the fire trucks' reach, homeowners must defend their property alone, or only with the help of neighbors. On fire-ban days, such as today, some stay home, to be ready in case a spark ignites.

These are the sorts of life experiences and lessons I didn't expect: gaining a better grasp of instant loss, of scorching heat, of flames mercilessly consuming hillsides, houses and ranches.

But I realize that we are not alone in these extremes. The crackly weather prompts the never-distant concern of global warming. News of flooding in northern Queensland and crippling winters in the U.K. and U.S. only deepen the thought.

Perhaps you are in a mild climate as you receive this note. I hope so, but I also know that many of you sent me here with questions about climate change. And, because I am living in a virtual petri-dish of land under an ozone hole, I cannot avoid the topic. I've kept waiting to gain answers so I could offer an explanation. I've only ended up with more questions. But I wanted you to know I've not forgotten. With days like these, how could I?

Hot, hot, hot

When we first got down to Melbourne, everyone here bemoaned the 35-degree days and asked how we were coping. Coming from inland Queensland, we laughed at their concern. We're not laughing anymore.

In a string of days hitting the mid-40s (45 degrees Celsius = 113 degrees Fahrenheit), you barely have the energy to smile. I'm sure folks in Victoria and South Australia felt the same the last time it was this hot for this long, a hundred years ago.

Some visitors, such as Russian Svetlana Kuznetsova, have tolerated the heat better than the weakness and even whinged (complained) when the roof was closed on the Rod Laver Arena, which paused the Australian Open. Others, such as Kuznetsova's opponent, American Serena Williams, relished the sweet relief.

I didn't get to watch the match myself. But last Saturday I did catch some action on the big screen in downtown Melbourne and traipsed around the arena snapping photos before the heat wave rolled in. Now I've joined the masses taking refuge indoors and thought I'd send a few photos from the week:

Australia Day:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=57054&l=3de8f&id=529849074

The Noodle Man:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=57408&l=668ab&id=529849074

The Australian Open from a distance:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=57409&l=cb25b&id=529849074

A day in Melbourne:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=57053&l=b0c25&id=529849074

Brighton Beach Bathing Boxes:
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1274561&l=79670&id=529849074

Australia Day

I have a sneaking suspicion that the convicts aboard the First Fleet, which hit Sydney Cove in 1788, had no idea we'd be celebrating their arrival more than 200 years later. But we are, and we call it Australia Day.

Barbecues, cricket matches, thong (flip flop, not swimsuit) throwing, and mini-golf are among the myriad of outdoor activities the Aussies will perfect today. Because I'm living in the suburbs, about 25 kms southeast of Melbourne, I headed into the city to document the fun. Without pretence of somber occasion, the festivities had no higher aim than that. More meaningful moments slipped in seamlessly as about 500 Aussies, from politicians to volunteers, got awards for contributing to their homeland and more than 13,000 people gained Australian citizenship.

My preparation was a bit less taxing: a trip to the cinema to see the movie Australia . Some of the scenes were shot near where I was living in Queensland, and I've been eagerly waiting for months, during which I seem to have maintained my wide-eyed, not-from-around-here wonder. When the kangaroos were bounding across the outback on the big screen, I still felt more like the awed Nicole Kidman than the chuckling Aussies sitting in the seats beside me.

Last week marked my fifth-month in Australia. As one might expect, I've accumulated quite a "Miss List" by now. Much like I miss all of you, I am already starting to miss the new friends I've made along my journey here and resumed missing an old one. I miss walking the main street of Gayndah and waving to familiar faces in passing cars. After two and a half months living with the Hampson family, I miss the daughters' family-tight hugs. I miss the summer-heat solidarity, as we'd puddle our bodies on sofas or melt flat on the wood floor and chat about work at the cafe. I miss weeks at the beach where we'd empty liters of sunscreen on already tan skin and later slather lotion on the burns. I miss clearly seeing my toes a meter under the ocean. I miss catching the pink hues of a sunset taunting me to come home from a long walk and daring me to describe such a scene in words. And that was just Queensland.

Victoria, with it's state motto: "The Place to Be," will have a list all its own, which would have to include stone fruit (peaches, nectarines, apricots) tender upon purchase. Or maybe I should start with mangoes, just as ripe, from the market. I'll miss neighborhood runs and pausing to bury my nose in the roses, dangling over picket fences. I'll miss the blanketing warmth of day and the refreshing cool of night.

All this and more I'll miss when I leave Australia, six months from now. Till then, the list grows with each train trip into the city, a hub of international cuisine, massive markets, riverside cafes and no end of fun, Australia's specialty.

This year Australia day happened to fall on the beginning on the Chinese New Year. For those lucky enough to be in Melbourne that meant an even more delightful offering of events, from antique car show to noodle-making demonstration. Soon I'll post photos of the eclectic day, complete with Bollywood dancing and fencing. For now, I'm off to bed, but to those a calendar day behind, I wish you a happy beginning to Australia Day and the Chinese New Year.

Tropical heat wave

Customers trickled in all morning, but, because of tonight's Mardi Gras celebration, which will consume the entire main street, I'd say the cafe will be slammed. The rest of the staff would say "flogged" or "flat out." Any way you phrase it, A Little Different will likely be busier than opening day, two months ago. So, in a few hours I'll repeat my toasty trek down the sloping hill for my last night of work.

Tomorrow I'll head to the beach to join the family with which I've lived, cooked, slept, and worked my entire time in Gayndah. They have graciously absorbed me into every part of their lives and are now including me in their holidays, too.

But with the new year comes more than resolutions. I'm leaving tropical Queensland and heading south along the coast. My companions for this road trip are sisters, one of whom is my future housemate at our final destination: Melbourne, where I'll spend my last seven months in Australia.

The past few weeks of 39-degree-Celsius days have made Christmas seem as far away as America, and, therefore, I've only just realized this is my last chance to send out a holiday greeting. Due to a somewhat secluded beach location and upcoming travel I won't be checking email frequently the next few weeks. My apologies in advance for any delayed replies. Once I settle in Melbourne, in mid-January, I'll be back in touch.