Shared Australian-Catalan history?

Last weekend saw Phil and I undertake a small pilgrimage to a mystical place. It was Phil's 30th birthday on Easter Sunday, and rather than sit around eating lots of chocolate or, god forbid, going to church, we spent the day surfing and cycling.

The bike ride was one that we had been planning for a few months and finally managed to get the timing, weather and motivation all in alignment. It was a weekend for the Dracs to explore the south coast of NSW around Bawley Point, a place that and I can no longer visit without being flooded with memories of a visit back in October 2013 with Betty and Bob!

The Orca timbre contemplates the Pacific Ocean

The Salsa and the Shhh! might not have been taken out as much as they deserved last weekend, but when they were we had a heap of fun.

Phil negotiates some fun singletrack behind the beach

Of course, Bob and Betty must know where this is all leading, even if they haven't physically been down this particular track.

...and the adventure continues...

Our pilgrimage led us out on the highway, then back through some fairly rough fire trails with sizable puddles, up a small hill and down the other side into a secluded piece of forest. Our final destination was at the end of a hike-a-bike track that we carried the Dracs through.

The Dracs rest at the feet of Old Blotchy

It's hard to get a feeling for the immensity of this tree without actually visiting it. Old Blotchy is a spotted gum that is estimated to be somewhere between 400 and 600 years old, a tree that was in its infancy when Catalonia was a free and independent country. It has become for me a bit of a symbol of the Catalan spirit and identity that continues on strongly despite all that it has endured.

Just like the Catalans, this tree has survived through the centuries, it is all that is left from the logging in the 19th century

I have realised over the last few months though that the Aussies and the Catalans share something much deeper and more intriguing. Bob often makes reference to the Catalan habit of celebrating defeats, and I was listening to someone on local radio the other month say the same thing about Australia. It really resonated with me as I thought it over. One of our most important national days is the 25th April, Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of the ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) forces at Gallipoli. It was the beginning of a campaign that lasted over eight months and that is described as one of the greatest Ottoman victories of WWI and one of the major Allied defeats. It was the first time that Australia and New Zealand suffered major casualties in WWI and the Gallipoli Campaign is often considered as marking the birth of national consciousness in Australia and New Zealand.

I am deeply intrigued by this connection between defeat and national identity. It is evidenced in other ways, for instance Australia Day (26th January) is increasingly seen as "Invasion Day", the day that the English arrived and shamelessly took over a land that had been inhabited by Indigenous Australians for over 40,000 years.

This is Spud, the man who gave me Moonjop, a bike that has become my own tribute to the First Australians.

As Spud's T-shirt cleverly says, our history is not something that we can be entirely proud of when it comes to what White Australia did to the Aboriginal custodians of this land.

Then there is our unofficial national song  "Waltzing Matilda". Yes, that's the song that your little music box plays, Bob. It is a song with many layers of meaning, but it is generally associated with the Great Shearers' Strike of 1891, which almost brought the Australian colony to the brink of civil war until the military was brought in. Then in 1894, another strike at a woolshed turned violent, and Samuel Hoffmeister shot himself at Combo Waterhole rather than be taken by the three policeman chasing him.

Interestingly, this song has also become entwined with the legend of the ANZACs. In 1971, Eric Bogle wrote "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda", a song that questions the way in which war is glorified. It is the haunting story of a drover who sailed off for Gallipoli, sent off from Circular Quay in Sydney with the band playing Waltzing Matilda, and he returns a cripple who has lost his legs and can no longer go 'Waltzing Matilda'.

Which brings us back to Anzac Day and a strange mixture of sombre respect for those who gave their lives for our country and  the beginning of a failed campaign.

It is a day that the Single Speeders have commemorated in Canberra the last few years by holding Phil's infamous Beer League race, however this year our COGS (Canberra One Gear Society) club is taking some time out from formal events to focus a bit more on family. So here are some photos from last year's event. Actually it's the podium with their well earned Anzac biscuits, a modern version of the type of food that was sent over to sustain the forces at Gallipoli.

The Catalans have a blood stained flag and we have a strange biscuit.

This blog post is probably even a little more eccentric than my usual contributions, and it might be that Betty, Bob and Phil are the only ones who really get all the references, but that doesn't matter. At the end of the day it is a tribute to the things we share: a love of single speeds, a passion for bikes, a shared interest in each other's history, a shared history of defeats that are celebrated, and symbols that unite us.

The spirit of mateship!

So I think I'll go make another coffee, and maybe a batch of Anzac biscuits?

Clar que yes!