Bound for South Australia

So, here we are in Adelaide, in the long-term home of Adrian’s cousin, Nigel, and his wife, Jan. In fact, Jan has lived in Adelaide all her life, except for the few years she spent in the UK as a newly qualified physiotherapist. Once married and with two small children, she and Nigel made the voyage to Australia (by sea – I’m so envious), where Nigel accepted a temporary contract with a law firm and never left. Same workplace, same house for nearly fifty years. They make Adrian and me look like a couple of indecisive lightweights.

The house in Burnside is on the lower slopes of the Adelaide hills overlooking, and not far from, the city centre. It’s split level, designed to take advantage of the steeply sloping land and the panoramic views but, like so many Australian houses, there’s little concession to winter. On a clear evening, the sunsets are gorgeous; in the summer there’s no better place for a barbecue or a swim or keeping cool. But right now, the weather here is rather dull and cold. Surprisingly so, even for early spring and Adrian and I are wearing all of the meagre supply of warm clothes we’ve managed to squeeze into our luggage allowance. All at once.

Jan isn’t well, so the helm of the household has been firmly grasped by Nigel, a new role for him and one that he takes on with efficiency and good grace. He’s made up a room for us downstairs, on the floor that their children, when growing up, had to themselves. They must have loved it. The room overlooks the front garden and Nigel has supplied us with a heater (thank you!) which warms the room in no time. Over the next few days, we grow very fond of our cosy room with its twin beds piled with duvets. 

Having lived in Adelaide for some time before I met him, Adrian has a special connection with NIgel, Jan and their (then young) four children. After a very pleasant evening with a Moroccan meal cooked by Nigel and an equally delicious riesling (Nigel knows South Australian wineries backwards and sideways, so the wine is always good), next day we take a drive in the Adelaide hills and then call on their second son, Nick, and his family for tea and cake. 

Nick, a surgeon, is the only one of the four who still lives in Adelaide and we’re very chuffed that he and his busy family have made time for us, particularly the seventeen and twenty year olds, two bright and charming young people, who join us for tea and graciously tolerate our curiosity about their lives. It’s more than nine years since we last saw them. In the evening, Adrian and I cook fish in coconut milk. We’re becoming quite adept at negotiating other people’s kitchens!

For me, the city of Adelaide has always meant the Festival Theatre, the park and river on which it sits. I performed here with Ballet Victoria in 1973 when it was very very new and loved the experience. After the Sydney Opera House, it was a revelation. This theatre is actually designed for performers, with vast wing space and dressing rooms that are less than half an hour’s walk to the stage. In Sydney, one exited the stage only to run instantly into a brick wall, which made staging Giselle, with its long lines of corps de ballet, interesting if not slightly painful. And on-stage calls had to take into account the labyrinthine corridors and staircases that separate the stage from the dressing rooms. 

But there’s more to Adelaide than its wonderful theatre and Adrian and I lose a very happy day visiting the museum and the art gallery which sits next door. South Australia’s natural history museum has the best and largest collection of aboriginal and pacific island artefacts in Australia and as Adrian spent two years in Bougainville and I, of course, grew up in Australia, it’s of immediate interest to us both.

Eventually we drag ourselves away for a late lunch and then move onto the Art Gallery which is equally fascinating.  We’re utterly enchanted by the current exhibition of Japanese modern ceramics; modern meaning post-WWII, when the country, its people, its culture and therefore its art underwent a seismic shift. The pieces are beautiful, symbolic and highly emotive in ways that are difficult to express, perhaps because as a westerner, I lack the language. But at any rate, the feeling on viewing them is raw, non-verbal. We feel uplifted. 

In the evening, we drive to a local pub for dinner and here a man I’ve only just met enlightens me about many things: about what’s wrong with the EU, with New Zealand’s government, with women, oh, and all the places Adrian and I are planning to visit . . . But this post is already far too long and we’re in Victor Harbor and Nigel has just lit the barbecue. I’m needed downstairs. Will write again soon.