Sunburn and Flying Foxes

I visited the Opera House yesterday, or rather I walked into it. It's fairly expensive to get a backstage tour of the place ($140), while an hour long tour is around $30. A better bet might be to go to a concert and I was tempted by a piano recital on Monday, though I'm not sure if I'll be here.

The Royal Botanic Gardens are right next door, and as I hadn't been to these at all (except to see Mrs McQuarie's Chair last year), I took a stroll now. Every so often a sound like a drill would go off, very loud and mysteriously coming from the trees. Feeling the blistering heat, particularly on my still tender back, I took shelter under a wide-spreading fig tree. Abruptly up roared the drill above my head. I could just make out what looked like two huge bluebottles in the branches and I guessed these were the cause of the sound. Certainly some insect was to blame. It was incredible just how loud it got, though it wasn't something to disturb a reader such as me, particularly when I knew Nature was the cause.

I am reading Salinger's collection of stories, "For Esme - with Love and Squalor". There is something distinctive about the New York/England writers and this collection is very much of their school. Midway through "Down at the Dinghey", I realised I was reading about another member of the Glass family, of "Franny and Zooey" fame. And noting that, I recalled Seymour Glass of the first story, "A Good Day for Bananafish"; another brother, and a fairly central (missing) figure from "Franny and Zooey". Salinger is almost as bad as Faulkner for his inter-related fiction. Interesting from that side of things, but very good stories in their own right, Salinger really strikes a chord with his readers. I recall at least one friend of mine who likened themselves to Franny. In this instance, a college friend of mine, Fiona, felt she wasn't too far removed from Esme. Strange that, given that Esme is a thirteen year-old girl. I suppose it is the excellent dialogue, born of exceptional characterisation, that strikes so true for people.

I spent the afternoon in the gardens, then decided to go for some food. Wandering near the rare plants though, I got carried away. One pine, the Wollemia Pine, was thought extinct for millions of years before being found in an isolated valley. Now it's being sold in garden shops. One was planted here.

As the sun went down, I happened to look up as a large bird flew over. I thought there was something funny about its wings. Another flew by. You could see the light through those wings and the skin curved inward from pointed joints. They weren't birds at all, but huge bats, grey-headed flying foxes to be exact. As I stared upwards I noticed more of them, and more, all hanging beneath branches like so much heavy fruit. With the twilight progressing, they were becoming more active, chattering and squealing and every so often gliding from one branch to another. Seeing guano all around me, I feared a little for my upturned face, but I was entranced. They were everywhere, hundreds, thousands. Louder and louder they were getting and more brash in their flying (flapping now). It was incredible, really exhilarating. Some of these bats have a wingspan of 1.5 metres. As they were taking to the skies like so many overfed starlings, I reluctantly took my leave, their cacophony rising, but fading, as I walked out.