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here’s something to be said against familiarity. It truly does breed a kind of contempt, an inattention to detail, a glossing over of nuance. I think I know what to expect so I stop paying attention. Sitting at a cafe, whose walls are illustrated in jungle themed banana leaves, on the outskirts of Gadigal Country in Sydney, Australia I roost in complacency. I am in a city whose language I speak fluently, whose cuisine I recognize, whose customs I am acquainted with. The lack of tension provides comfort. I don’t need to work at translation. Vigilance is no longer required. The greed of being an amateur expert sways me. Because I know a little, I think I understand.
After all, when a modern metropolis looks and behaves like every other, what else is there to glean? A place isn’t unique because it has a colorful sign of its name sitting in a commercial plaza. A location has meaning because it allows one to answer the question: how do I know where I am? So many details can help guide us to the complicated response: geology, historical heritage, vernacular architecture, bioregionalism, artisans, and cultural proclivities. In a place where it’s not possible to experience the joy of being a novice, how can I prevent loss of imagination? How do I search for what’s different about the somewhere I am?
Like mushrooms, the stories are buried. I root, I burrow, I attend to what’s missing from the picture, what seems to like staying hidden, and what is asking for exposure. Rather than clinging to the comfort of the “real thing,” distorting a narrative because it isn’t what pleases me, I adjust to consider other ways of inhabiting this space. After all, I remind myself, there’s a whole distinct season occurring on the opposite hemisphere of the planet.
Click-clack, click-clack, click-click-clack. The rhythm beckons. Are the jacaranda branches speaking? Is it the raven floating over the lawn? I ferret my way from silky oaks to rat’s tail orchids draped over a fig. I amble past magnolias to a docent-led group under the umbrella of palms. “Do you feel the streams underneath as your feet touch mother earth?” In the gravel little squiggles appear from the end of the guide’s walking stick, a magical network of tributaries. “These waterways fill up the landscape. Make their way to the five river systems around us. Can you hear them pumping, pumping this heart beat?” Click-click-click. The guide bangs together two wooden batons. “We acknowledge this heart beat. We acknowledge our caretaker mother earth. We acknowledge the water custodians and the wisdom of our elders.”
An invitation I can’t ignore to deepen my acquaintance with the region. I wiggle my toes inside their shoes, hoping to catch a hint of that thrumming. “Notice the trees circling these water courses. They are witnesses to our history. Family members. So they and everyone else they sustain becomes part of our circle.” The docent draws a ring in the dirt, encompassed by larger ones. “As our relationship sphere enlarges, so does our imagination. As we move across terrain, we listen to all the stories our kin has to tell so that we can carry their knowledge forward. Because that’s what our purpose is.”
“Earth has already provided us with the tools and blueprints for success. So whether it’s river wattle lore or saltwater fishing laws, we are in constant communication with nature. For our culture, to be ‘of a place,’ is to be in conversation with our surroundings, our ancestors, and with future generations.” My breath catches. How can I still not know the names of my neighborhood plants? Or the history of the redwoods that used to live on the land I walk daily? Or tell the differing chirps of hummingbirds and sparrows nesting in my community? I’ve been busy searching for stories and forgot to listen to the ones being told to me.
In a narrow alley I hear a symphony of tongues as I watch noodles boiling, dumplings bubbling, and garlic frying. While the Gadigal guide transcribed earth, these transplants interpret flavors. As I read their transmuted histories in the sambal, the gochujang, the hoisin, I think about the importance of translation. A bridge between cultures, an intermediary, an amplifier of limitations, translation can approach a destination but never attain the original’s true meaning. This makes the interpreter in many ways a tourist of implications, a child of languages, a novice to any project. Which doesn’t have to be a deficiency when the translator understands their constraints, when the joy of the work is in the wonder the journey engenders rather than becoming an expert.
For both First Nations and many Asian settlers of this territory, non-linear thinking and translation has been integral to their storytelling and understanding of the world. A way of not only seeing the angled, limited surface tale, but also the ones that keep revolving around time and relationships. Finding these other rivers of narration, navigating the unfamiliar, grappling with the limits of translation keeps us and our world beautifully vibrant and diverse.
TRAVEL NOTE:
“Kindred” by Gunai author and artist Kirli Saunders talks community, weaving personal and universal into each keen poem in the collection.
What is an unfamiliar experience you encountered in another place?
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Superb photos
So happy to hear you liked them! Thanks for stopping by to chat with me.
I’m thinking you must have been in Sydney’s Botanical Gardens. I’m from Australia, but have long lived in Canada and listen almost daily for the stories the birds here are telling me. I love that you could see the need to delve deeper. It’s a reminder to me also, even though I can (mostly) identify the bird stories where I live. I have a friend who recently spent 3 months in Australia, and saw little of the country, and then dismissed it as hating the politics, and being racist. I was broken hearted that with limited experience and apparently even less knowledge she was okay with dismissing an entire culture. It’s only by exploring all the stories, and listening between the lines of translation that we can get a deeper understanding. I so appreciate your thoughtful wisdom.
Alison
PS I tried to read your most recent post but it said I needed to subscribe. So I subscribed and then got the message that there would be an email to confirm my subscription, but I never received the email, so I cannot access your post. Maybe I’ll try unsubscribing first then resubscribing.
Thank you. Yes, definitely went to Sydney’s Botanical Gardens! This was one of the places offering indigenous led tours of the area. I hope you’ll be able to read the newest post. Perhaps, the confirmation email got stuck in your spam folder? It might be easier also to try to read the newest post through the WP app, if you have that available. Anyways, let me know.
I’ve fixed it by unsubscribing and resubscribing.
Hooray! Happy to hear that worked!
A special Amen to your last paragraph. I love the way our rebuilt ( or rebuilding ) city is revealing its layers especially those connected to our Māori heritage. I have lived here for nearly 30 years and every week I discover something ‘new’ which brings me into closer communion with my environment. Thanks for your wisdom and gorgeous photos.
Aww, thank you for such a sweet comment! I very much appreciate it. Hoping this finds you well.
“Whether differences are from cultural, etiquettical, or customary reasons, I think it does one good to get out from familiar spaces to experience more of what the world offers. If we can’t, then it may take more effort to see our everyday as something new or different.” A case for travel, if I ever heard one. My parents are intrepid travellers despite their age and chronic health challenges, and I believe you have captured the essence of why they continue to pursue this passion.
It’s lovely to hear from you regarding your parents and their continuous desire to travel, despite challenges. It’s such an inspiration to me. Thank you! Hope this finds you well wherever your journey takes you.
I, too, hope that I will have their spirit of adventure as I age as well!
So busy searching for something imagined that we forget to see what’s right in front of us – true enough! Understanding the roots of indigenous wisdom can help us get past our cultural blind spots, as you demonstrate here. I like the way you segued into such interesting observations about translation – in language or food or whatever. For sure, the joy has to be in the wonder, not in some striving for status. Then that last photo and paragraph together – just brilliant!
Sorry it took me so long to get here – I’m glad I put a star by your post and came back to it. 🙂
Thank you for returning to my post and for your lovely comment. As someone who is constantly enthralled by your photography I’m flushed with pride to hear you sing the praises of mine. I constantly remind myself that the joy is in the journey, even as the world keeps insisting that certain destinations are the ultimate end goal.
You’re too kind. There’s no question that the joy is in the journey – and the many stops along the way. 🙂
This is a beautifully written piece. It made me think of so many beautiful and interesting things I have taken for granted for the reason you mentioned: I know it’s there, so I stopped paying attention. I like your idea of opening up our minds and developing a deeper relationship with where we live. It can create a more dynamic environment, allowing our imaginations to take off.
I think of my hometown and how most of my friends can identify every bird and plant… while I struggle 🙂 As you put it, I believe it becomes second nature for people to be “… busy searching for stories and forgot to listen to the ones being told to me… navigating the unfamiliar, grappling with the limits of translation keeps us and our world beautifully vibrant and diverse.” Your writing flows so well, and the photographs also help to carry me along with your thoughts.
Thank you for your beautiful words Randall! I’m always so grateful to have you read and understand my posts so wonderfully and as a fellow travel and outdoors enthusiast I so enjoy your insights into how places can change us in so many different ways. I hope this finds you safe and well.
Another comment. As I just started reading Tao Te Ching. There is a concept of emptinesss. E.g. We look at a house, the walls, the floors, the roof, but what is really important is what’s inside the house. The “emptiness” of the house.
let’s tie that to “what lies beneath…”
🙏🏻
I love this! I hadn’t thought about…the importance of reverencing empty space. The need for negative space…that which allows positive space to coexist. In the art world of painting and sculpture this is vital to the artist’s work. In the economic world, it’s an interesting concept to counteract our keenness to build and grow and fill everywhere.
I understand negative space is critical in photography. (I don’t use it too much though.)
In the economic world… Wow. That is very rich. (I have an MBA, so…) Restraint maybe? As opposed to greed?
Matter of fact I’m preparing a post on those very lines… Stay tuned.
All well I hope?
Ooh, I’m excited for your upcoming post! All’s well here. Hope this finds you safe and healthy.
Draft is ready. I need to get a few photographs to illustrate. Which might be in a few weeks…
Good. all well here too.
🙏🏻
You are touching on so many truths in this piece, Atreyee. As always, it is so thought-provoking! There is something about the novelty and experience of something new that truly awakens all our senses. Even the second time of experiencing the same thing, there is already a dullness in the form of familiarity that sneaks in, even when we are still excited about it. I wonder if it is deeply imbedded in us to adjust and adapt to new environments in order to feel comfortable and at home in them. Discomfort certainly invites in tension, which isn’t a state of being we tend to gravitate towards. Unless of course one loves to travel. For me, it is when I slow down, pay attention, and notice the details: the slant of the sun, the wind or sun on my skin, the smell of damp earth or woodsmoke that all ward off complacency. But these are consious choices we have to make sometimes on a daily or hourly basis to learn about and enjoy the small gifts of our environments. Nothing is static, so there is always something new, but maybe the nuance is so small that unless we choose to notice, we miss it altogether.
I love this: “Nothing is static, so there is always something new, but maybe the nuance is so small that unless we choose to notice, we miss it altogether.” One doesn’t necessarily need to travel to experience the ways in which life is full of change, but as you so beautifully stated humans really don’t like to be uncomfortable and we are highly adaptable! Thanks so much for your lyrical comment and your sweet words of encouragement. Hope this finds you safe and healthy.
Hi BT, so sorry to be late. I received your email notification of a new post but without a link. It was a blank email, strangely. I knew I had to get back to your blog eventually, but of course, I forgot!
Hope you had a good start to the year.
Love the images and your perceptions about places and spaces, especially when they’re familiar to us. I understand what you mean about how the familiar can cause us to ‘unsee’ some of the wonders in front of us.
I think it’s what makes travel both rewarding and humbling for me. To go somewhere new and realize things are done differently than at home always makes me pause. Two instances in the past that affected me … sneezing in public in Cuba is considered very rude. I was in a car and sneezed several times, but the guide didn’t tell me until I got out of the car. I was mortified! He wasn’t admonishing me , but only wanted to point it out. As a tourist, he gave me a pass, but once I knew, I didn’t sneeze publicly again.
Many years ago in Jakarta, I wanted to shake hands with a local man and extended my left hand toward him. I’m right handed and I don’t remember why I used my left, but it was a big faux pas. The left hand is considered unclean since it’s used to clean one self in the toilet. Back then, there weren’t many western-type toilets like they have today.
Whether differences are from cultural, etiquettical, or customary reasons, I think it does one good to get out from familiar spaces to experience more of what the world offers. If we can’t, then it may take more effort to see our everyday as something new or different. Still worth it! 🙂
So lovely to hear from you eden! Hope this finds you well. Thanks for informing me about the email missing link. I will try to look into fixing that. I’m all for expanding our imaginations whether it’s from travel or reading or life experiences! I’m so fascinated by the examples you shared from your travels. The left and right hand cultural difference I’ve been familiar with, but how do people cover up a sneeze in Cuba when they are in public?
Hi BT, covering a sneeze is permissible, as it cannot be helped. Blowing one’s nose is the big faux-pas. Sorry, I forgot to mention that in my note. To do this in public, I moved away from people and did it quietly in some corner!
I see. Thanks for clarifying!
Have you read “Songlines”? If you haven’t, buy it, steal it, borrow it. (Borrowing a book is the same…LOL)
You should love it…
Not yet! Thanks for the recommendation. Following your advice and rushing off to library… 😁
Bruce Chatwin. A most remarkable book. Hope you like it.
You are so right about our tendency to not notice the beauty and uniqueness of our own environments after a while. This is a nice wake-up call. Thank you. And how wonderful that you got to see the richer, deeper side of the Australia you thought you knew. A gift.
Thank you, it was indeed a gift. One I will hopefully remember and learn from as I journey on.
Very thought provoking … has me thinking! Awesome post.
Aww, thank you Denise for your kind words! Hoping this finds you well.