Grey Army versus the commuters on the SMBI

Just judging by the numbers on the
ferries is a poor guide 

If we have a common myth on the islands, it is that the islands is becoming more of a commuter community than the retirees.
The reverse is true.
Below is a comparison using the Census figures of 2011 and those of a decade ago.  While the overall numbers have increased by nearly double  to 5,626 the number of older people either retired or close to setting up for retirement is increasing faster than the other groups. The proportion of workers 50 to 59 approaching retirement has fallen from 22.8% to 16.3%. parents and home builders in the 35 to 49 age group has fallen from 18.6% to 17.3%  and the young workforce in the 25 to 34 bracket have remained constant, those in the 60 to 84 group have dramatically increased.
Most telling of these groups is the jump in the retiree and empty nester group aged from 60 to 69 who have gone from being only 7.3% of the population to nearly a quarter at 23.1.
In theory such a large proportion of retirees should indicated a higher degree of voluntary work making up for the gaps in the social services available on the islands but it doesn't: the numbers are only slightly above those of Redland City as a whole and, ominously, the 18.4% participation is falling fast from the 21% we had  in 2006.
The question is will, granted these trends, inclusion of the SMBI in Translink  help or hinder the sustainability of the islands?

Southern Moreton Bay Islands	2011			2001			Change
Service age group (years)	Number	%	Redland City %	Number	%	Redland City %	2001 to 2011
Babies and pre-schoolers (0 to 4)	335	6	6.2	146	4.5	6.6	189
Primary schoolers (5 to 11)	387	6.9	9.5	239	7.3	11	148
Secondary schoolers (12 to 17)	346	6.2	8.9	181	5.6	9.8	165
Tertiary education & independence (18 to 24)	216	3.8	8.7	103	3.2	8.7	113
Young workforce (25 to 34)	386	6.9	10.6	225	6.9	11.9	161
Parents and homebuilders (35 to 49)	975	17.3	21.4	606	18.6	23.7	369
Older workers & pre-retirees (50 to 59)	919	16.3	14	742	22.8	12.7	177
Empty nesters and retirees (60 to 69)	1300	23.1	11	631	19.4	7.3	669
Seniors (70 to 84)	725	12.9	7.8	349	10.7	7	376
Frail aged (85 and over)	37	0.7	2	30	0.9	1.2	7

Dip of death

Too close for comfort: swimmers at Russell Wharf yesterday

Every summer when it heats up, kids are out of school and head for the water.
In the Bay Islands this is becoming a dice with death or serious injury.

1. Shark attack. Six years ago, a young woman was taken by Bull Sharks in the Rainbow Channel at Amity on North Stradbroke Island.  A public information campaign aimed at visitors was mounted by the Redland Council and permanent signs erected along the shoreline.
2. Getting infections. The latest Healthywaterways report gives the Southern Moreton Bay area a "D" rating drawing attention to the outsized sewerage plume originating from the Albert and Logan Rivers after the heavy rains early in the year.
3. Leaping from the roofs of structures.  Both the Council and ferry operators have looked at redesigning access to gantries and roofs to prevent access but the practice continues.



Leaping into the wake

4. Being run down by water traffic.  Fast ferries, big barges and private vessels are growing in number every year in the islands and converge on the few public pontoons used by the swimmers.  Fast ferries frequency is around one every half hour at most island pontoons. Fortunately most of the ferries are now waterjet driven so the danger of being hit by a propeller or rudder has been lessened. However, bobbing heads are difficult to see and not every swimmer can see or hear boats approaching. 

 Efforts have been made by locals and authorities to prevent the practice.  Island police have been called to the jetties when unsafe practices have been observed.  Locals have erected (and had torn down) signs warning of the shark danger. The ferry drivers are always alert for swimmers. One of the key reasons for the Council and State authorities and Education Department backing the building of the $1m Russell Island swimming pool was to give an alternative.
But the practice continues and is only a matter of time before a serious accident happens.
What is the answer?

Towards using a smart camera: day one

First shot with a smart camera: a graffiti wall in Capalaba, Queensland, Australia

I had waited for four months, I could wait no more: through some fluke of distribution, a large retail store in the area scored one of the first Samsung Galaxy Cameras to be made available in Australia.
After a few hours with it I was so pleased that paid my $599 for it.
Why was I so excited?  Look at the photo; it was a quick shot of a shadowed shop wall using one of the many easy to use presets. No cropping, no image manipulation. It is what I have been looking for in a camera: simple, fast unobtrusive and capable of capturing the kinds of images I want to illustrate my writing.

Ashi Pentax: lightweight 35mm c. 1960

Some history

I was forced to take up photography. It was because my newspaper was cheap: it didn't want to pay for a pro photographer to do the photos to illustrate my stories.  Instead the General Manager bought one of them new-fangled 35mm SLRs for staff use. I had to return the Ashi Pentax to the newspaper's safe every night along with the spare role of film I was issued. The pro store up the road still got to develop my shots.
Later, in the Australian Army's Public Relations branch, I was relieved of the duty of taking photos and as I scribbled my notes observed how the real professionals wielded SLRs loaded with the exciting new 400 ASA monochrome film to bring us all the Vietnam conflict in searing images. These war photographers were far more eloquent than anything I could write.

Minolta: tough but heavy and too obvious.

Convinced, I bought my own SLR: a  Minolta SR-2. Rugged  but decidedly heavy, hard to hide and took far too much time to bring to bear when you are trying to capture those special moments that tell a story.
 I kept trying over the years with a succession of SLRs that evolved into DSLRs. Not with great success.
Then I was shocked by American pro photographer Chase Jarvis in his photo essay,  The Best Camera that you have is the one that's with you . The camera was getting in the way of my story. He took brilliant shots with nothing more than an early iPhone, getting around the limitations of the square format, poor definition and dynamic range with sensitivity for the tool at hand and creativity.

A startling Cartier-Bresson image
taken with his famous  LEICA

Then I looked again at the life works of Cartier Bresson. Cartier Bresson is still the master of street photography--and he did just so much of his great work on a small, unobtrusive LEICA he carried in his pocket. The trick is to be invisible to your subjects so they don't play for the camera.  For sports photography, that is easy but to capture the quick of life, it is much harder.

Big battery blister on my S2 gives sufficient
life for a day's shooting, navigation and
emailing

Consequently, at the beginning of this year, I made the decision not replace my worn out Pentax DSLR with its beautiful Tamron 18-200mm zoom lens to travel with a smartphone. The best available at the time was the Samsung Galaxy S2.
It was the right move, I took nearly 3000 photos in four months and, every night was able to review what I had to match with my writing. Many of the photos were note taking rather than story telling, there to remind me of the text on signs, people and places visited. Thus my writing improved along with my photography.
But as my expertise grew, so did my frustration with the limitations of using a single device for everything. For example, you can't record a public speech and take photos at the same time. The killer was that, like most multi-use tools, the performance of some functions can be mediocre.  On the S2's camera, I began to notice a subtle pink spot at the centre of each snap. At first, I just worked around the difficulties with post-production fixes on my home computer but finally I cracked.

The Smart Camera

Sadly, while coming with a thoughtful camera app
that works on startup, the camera has annoying
number of junk apps baked in.

Cue the Galaxy Smart Camera with its 16MP, Optical 21x, 23mm Wide Zoom lens.
Samsung took a moderately good compact camera (Samsung WB850F) ripped off the complicated array of buttons and dials and layered onto the back the touch screen and guts of arguably one of the best smart phones available the Galaxy S3.  If you want to read a proper description  of this remarkable package see Digital Photography Review
The only bit Samsung left out from the S3 was the ability to do voice phonecalls--not a high priority when you already have a smartphone on you. My experience of trying to use a smartphone is one of horrific battery drain--and with only a tiny 1,650mAh battery you just don't need that pain. The trick is, as I quickly found out, to limit it to its proper function--a good camera with excellent communication and reasonable editing.
Then there is the weight and size.  The specs say 300gm which is over twice that of the S3.  And you will need to carry a spare battery. Still that is much less than even the lightest of the DSLRs currently on offer and it is compact enough to be worn on a belt.
In a rather ironic twists,  the ergonomics are great for me because I am a left hander. The camera grip, zoom and photo button are on the right and easy to use but my dominant hand is free to use the screen better than the majority of people.  Very much the same as a table setting: never did really understand why the fork, the most used implement is on the left but it suits me perfectly.
But it is in the comms that this phone shines.  More on that later as I work towards what is the best configuration for my purposes.

Postcard from South Bank

Night swimming at Brisbane's
 South Bank

A postcard from South Bank in Brisbane? Isn't that home territory for someone who lives on Moreton Bay's southern islands?

True but not quite. It is only  but at this time of year inner city Brisbane can be just as foreign as visiting Bradford in the UK or Saint Antonio in Texas. It is not the mileage but the depth of the experience.We try to turn from the dog-eared page of our normal preoccupations and read pages written by others in the grand book of life. Brisbane South Bank at Christmas time is one of those pages worth experiencing.

It is different because the commercial and power centre of the inner city closes down for the Australian Christmas season. The suits, the law, the public servants and the politicians pick up their families and head for their choice of seaside: some the loudness of the Gold Coast, some to the more muted Sunshine Coast, some to the deafening silence of Stradbroke Island across the Bay. Those with more cash fly out to a beach of choice as far north as Bali, but it is still all sand and splashing about in the water. More often than not they huddle together with similar people from their own circle and order the same beer and food as they have at home. Brisbane is stuck with those who can't (or choose not to) getaway.

Nowhere is that plainer than the jewel of a riverside playground on the South Bank. Nearly all the touristy shops, restaurants, cafes and even superettes are closed and the place is as dead as the city itself.  But at night, when the sub-tropical heat dies down a little, it shimmers with the smiles of a thousand people who didn't getaway.  They arrive with their blankets, babies, food from their own kitchens, cheap Christmas presents, swimming togs and big mats to claim a spot on the grass.  They are making the most of the free time they have in a beautiful  and pleasant spot.

Chilling out with a movie

What attracts them is not just the cooler winds off the river and the fairytale backdrop of an empty city dressed for the most joyful time of the year but the remarkable free swimming area in the centre of this peculiarly Queensland public park.

Deep into the night people frolic in the chest high water—no overly serious people doing exercise laps here, no diving boards, no gym—just those wanting to wallowing and splashing about a lot.  They are overseen by half a dozen pleasant young lifeguards whose eyes never seem to stop scanning for problems that never seem to eventuate. Upstream from the main pool scores of children swarm and shriek with laughter over the rocks and through the fountains of a wet play area. 

Santa modelled in sand. Note the shiny nose
on Rudolph

The only food that on sale was ice cream cones from a pushcart vendor. Alcohol and the Rap Music was discretely limited to the “surf club” at the back of the beach. The lifeguards, police and cleaning staff seemed to have little work to do in looking after the happy families united around the pool.

At holiday time the City Council's activities programme ramps up a notch with movies for those in the pool and its surrounding beach. The soft and gooey confection “Miracle on 34^th Street”, the 1994 remake of the 1947 classic, was the feature on this Christmas Eve. Snow-flecked people wrapped against the cold and skating in front of New York's Rockefeller Centre stood in startling contrast to the audience of swimmers. But then, so did the sand sculpture of Santa with his sleigh and reindeer gracing the entrance of the park--especially when you saw the sign inviting you to spot the possum in the display.

Don't like the movie or swimming? Catch up with
 distant loved ones on the Internet.
 on the internet

Swimmers watching the ice skating

In all, it was a slightly surrealistic scene bathed in the reflected glow of in-pool lighting.  This sense was reinforced  by the cultural sound mix murmuring behind the movie's schmaltzy American soundtrack: I recognised snatches of Arabic, Malay, Mandarin, Dutch, Slavic and French dialects and well as the usual spread of international and regional Englishees rising from the Polynesia, Japan, Indian and China. Not so much an American-style 'melting pot' here as an Australian melting pool. 

It was peace on earth, it was a goodwill to all;  it was a reminder that such things are possible in a world where hate carnage and terrible crimes dominate the news.

Thank you South Bank for bringing this simple thought home to me this Christmas.

Postcard from Brussels

It took a few days but I am starting to see the good side of Belgium. And it wasn't the weather—just the opposite, it was warm and sunny when we came across the border, through Antwerp and then cycled our way towards Mechelen and finally trained into the capital Brussels.

The rubbish in the streets, the graffiti everywhere, the oppressive drab and less than inspired public architecture continued as did the rumble of the cars over cobblestones and the national sport of sitting in traffic jams blowing the horns on their expensive vehicles. We were feeling that the Manneken Pis(the little kid pissing fountain reproduced in the various scales like the souvenir key-rings of the Eiffel Tower) was very appropriate for Brussels. And, in theory, my gloom should have been made worse as the clouds and drizzle blanketed the town.

But no, it had the reverse effect because it drove us to adopting our habitual travel tactics for cold weather in a big unfriendly cities: head to the movies and the galleries. The movies are always good because, for a little while, you could be anywhere. We saw Ridley Scott's “Prometheus” the day after its London premier—and four days ahead of the US release. We were stunned that such a good director could turn out such a bad overblown retread of the Alien series but it allowed us to forget Belgium for a while. On the second day, we saw Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, a superbly told tale of almost star crossed young lovers. It gave us a real lift and we recommend it to anyone feeling a bit depressed about humanity..

And using bikes from the Villo (another JCDecreaux system like that of Paris and Brisbane) we found the sprawling colony of national art galleries grouped around the Royal Palace just before the weather closed in. Fighting Nancy's inability to stand for long periods, we managed to see the Magritte Museum one day and followed that up with a journey through Belgium art since the 16th century though to now while it drizzled outside.

Also offsetting the gloom were two other finds: the Belgium fascination for comics and the grand arcades that drill through the blank facades with some regularity. The arcades varied from the majestic glazed Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert to the modern shopping malls of the overpriced international shopping district around the Grote Markt. They may have been expensive but at least people who served were pleasant and generally accommodating.

I shouldn't be too hard on Belgium. It is a poor little rich kid that has been traumatised for most of its existence by being the battleground of Europe and now where most of the fights between the members of the European Union fight it out diplomatically and bureaucratically rather than with bayonets and hand-grenades. Local French and Dutch speaking communities are deeply divided, long periods without formal national leadership pockmark the government and it is a credit to the people that it hasn't spilt over into violence. They seem to be fighting an economic and political civil war of attrition that means that they lag well behind in some of the more civilised greening away from gross capitalism as we have seen elsewhere in Europe. With the financial edge of the EU (Ireland, Greece and Portugal) crumbling, the centre of Brussels is just as vulnerable to social unrest if the slide continues

Postscript: Now hurtling out of Belgium at 300kph on the Thylus train. The keyboard only jumps every now and again so I can continue typing a bit. Bussels Midi railway station was a another adventure. First we elected to walk the 2.4km from our hotel through the angry traffic and ugly buildings. As we approached the station, as it is with most stations, the area became rougher and occupied by what the Belgians euphemistically call the “New Europeans”--the African and Middle eastern immigrants. These New Europeans now make up 25 % of the Brussels population and like all immigrants occupy the meanest jobs and worst housing. Before venturing into the station precinct, we stopped for a coffee at Arab run cafe. It was clean, comfortable and had good service. We had one of the best coffees of our stay—a thick arabian blend coffee topped with chantilly whipped cream and some chocolate praline (that is the style that they call cappuccino here)

The next bit was not as pleasant. The covered pedestrian walkways outside the station itself and stank of piss and in the darker corners shit-smeared napkins and tissues clung to the wet pavement. Inside the station, the harassed attendant at the Wcs dispensed change to the line of women waiting for the toilets. It cost E.50c ($A 70c) to use them and users had to use a coin operated gate to get in. It said something about the bizzaire organisation of this country whose income per head is one of the highest in the world.

Postcard from Versailles

In my 30 or so years of travelling the world, I have avoided seeing the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the glories of Versailles.  It was a wise move and now I know why. People: too many people.

Once again we are back in the Paris and we are edging into spring. The weather has eased enough for the lovely young things to be venturing out in their new fashion for the spring: skin tight hot-pants over tights.  No doubt many regretted it, not just because the cold and rain hung on but because the fashion does not work on anything other than bulimic young models – if it works at all. Others were blissfully ignorant of just how silly they looked. Some things never change.

Even though the distances between docking stations are relatively short and the stations are everywhere, the system has not cleared out enough of general congestion on the streets and sidewalks.  The specially declared cycleways were less effective because the private vehicles are still plentiful and the walkers even more plentiful.  An interesting twist is that in African immigrant areas, people stand around the streets so they can meet and greet others. Not harmful, but the Parisian streets and sidewalks can barely take the load of people movement and this new habit while all very colourful, does not help.
We had set a single day target of Eiffel via the Seine and back along the Champs Elysees, but soon found that negotiating the milling crowds on yet another French holiday was hard work.  It was the fourth in May, almost as unpredictable to the traveller as the rain storms.
We had both passed through the stage of being tourists in Paris more than 30 years ago, so the great sights passed by in much the same way as buoys in a yacht race or orienteering control points.  The real interest was the challenge of getting there and what you see incidentally along the way rather than the icons themselves.
No better example was when we did Versailles on a circuit organised by a cycle tour outfit.  Versailles is more than just a huge and almost obscenely ornate palace; it has around 715 hectares of garden and grounds tended by  around 200 gardeners.  This topped the 24.5 hectares of the Parc du Champ-de-Mars around the Eiffel Tower we had seen the day before.  It had a mere 38 gardeners and cleaning agents.  The huge cross of the Versailles Canal was a journey of nearly six kilometres on Fat Tire  Bike Tour bikes. Apart from the other bicycle tourists like ourselves and the odd hiking group, only a few ventured away from the palace itself.  The ease in cycling the space and the order of Versailles' paths and woods created by Royal decree contrasted strongly with the extreme concentration it required to negotiate the teaming masses moving around in Paris.  The Parisian mobs may be relatively wealthy but they still do not have the living space.
In one hideous but telling Parisian moment I saw three Porsche Cayennes triple-parked in front of one of the upmarket cafes of the Trocadero circle waiting for the valet parking service. They forced a Lamborgini to find a double parking spot further away.  Even the  rich and privileged have difficulty travelling in Paris.  
After fighting around much of our Paris circuit, we gave up on the velos when we got to the cobblestones of the Champs-Elysees—no room for cycling there with all the space taken up by motor vehicles and a press of pedestrians.
At Versailles the crowds were just as miserable in and near the Palace.  Everywhere had a queue: the one for entry into the building snaked for a good 400 metres. The most stressed out queues were for the toilets.  Even at the well-appointed Versailles McDonalds, people were queuing use the loos.
However, don't let me put you off.  Paris has got to be one of my favourite places on earth, not just because of its history but the energy of the city authorities in constantly re-examining and renewing the city to cope with new pressures as they appear—to make it over for the benefit of the people who live there. The beggars and gypsies are still a problem, the crush everywhere a serious issue but Paris is more Paris than ever now that thousands use the Vélib' cycles every day (the system has expanded to encompass around 18,000 bicycles and 1,200 bicycle stations) or private bikes, and on a weekend whole city blocks and extensive Seine-side roadways are blocked to all but pedestrians, skaters and cyclists.

But our self imposed “Tour de l'Europe” mission was to get the most out of the Parisian Vélib' public bicycle tickets.  Not that they were expensive: 1.70 Euros a day--so long as we kept finding a destination docking station  every 30 minutes.  This is the same as Brisbane's CityCycle as installed by Campbell Newman so we had little trouble in adapting.  The closeness of the systems made for some interesting observations about the differences between two cities and the utility of the cycle hire system. Vélib', although better appreciated than CityCycle, is not a universal panacea.

Versailles by bike. Yes, that's our lunch in the wooden boxes.

Vélib' is part of the answer—a relatively easy part of the jigsaw puzzle that is needed to green Paris,  The harder bits are underway and we noted everywhere the drive to turn vehicle traffic snarls into public space. They are rethinking every intersection, every narrow street and looking for ways to make it more habitable.  
We should take a lesson.