It’s amazing what we get used to. Locals keep their eyes forward while passing bloated kangaroo carcasses, spray Raid on redback spiders residing under the handles of the car trunk, and don’t take a second glance at the colorful parrots that beat their wings above street lights and telephone wires. And you’d think after the avian fauna of Costa Rica and India, Nepal and California, I’d be immune to the charms of squawking corellas and squabbling galahs… but of course, though I adjusted rapidly to the climate and the time change, the constant flip-flops and the vague answers to any question (“not bad,” “not long,” “not far,” “not too much,”) I’m still fascinated by the birds.
I think someone must be feeding the galahs. They’re remarkably cavalier about my approach, a slow flip-flop shuffle with a big lens and some muffled cursing as I trip over the tufts of grass that cling to life in the backyard.