Travel Notes And Comments

Written in Europe

By R. W. Robson.

Aluminium from the

Gulf of Papua

THAT plan to harness the great rivers which flow into the Gulf of Papua, so as to get the massive electricity supply necessary for the manufacture of aluminium, is still on; but it has taken a curi ous twist.

For the production of aluminium from bauxite ore, there must be a huge output of electric power, far away from any large settlement which might interefere with con tinuous generation. (There now are large aluminium production works on the northwest Canadian coast, based on the big rivers of that sparsely-populated area.) And, of course, there must be large supplies of bauxite.

In the Papuan Gulf plan, bauxite was to be brought across Torres Strait from Arnhem Land (in Aus tralia’s Northern Territory) where there are large deposits.

Quite by chance, I got in among certain aluminium interests n Lon don, which knew all about the aluminium schemes of Papua Gulf and Bell Bay (the big Australian aluminium establishment in Tas mania). I learned that the pro posal to establish the hydro-electric works in Papua will go on, but that the idea of bringing the bauxite from Arnhem Land to Papua, and from other parts of Australia to Bell Bay, has been abandoned, be cause of the very heavy labour costs in Australia.

There are large bauxite deposits in North Borneo and in British areas thereabouts; and careful investiga tion has shown that it will cost about £6 per ton less to mine it in Borneo and carry it by ship to Papua Gulf and Bell Bay, than if it were mined in Australia.

An important consideration is that the world demand for aluminium is growing steadily, and the world bauxite deposits are not unlimited.

It is argued that it is wiser, at this stage, to use the Asian deposits in the way proposed, while conserving the Australian deposits for a later stage.

“For Service” !

Various things plague the traveller in Europe and Asia; but the worst nuisance is the now universal practice of tipping. It seems that every single soul connected in any way with public service, from trans port to food preparation, has his hand out for the coin (or, in France and Italy and other places of vastly depreciated currency, the filthy little banknote).

The practice of tipping is so gen eral that these servants regard their

tip as a matter of right; and, if nothing comes their way, they will put on a demonstration calculated to destroy the non-tipper’s morale.

The female ushers in Paris theatres, for example, expect quite a large tip for the privilege of showing you to your seat, and will literally scream if nothing is forthcoming, or the amount, in their opinion, is too small.

The absurd thing is that all hotel and restaurant bills, in all countries, now carry a surcharge of from 10 to 20 per cent, for “service.” This plan was introduced gradually, over the years, with the plea that the traveller thus was freed from tip ping or from the often embarrassing necessity of finding out what he should give the waiter or the porter.

But now it is a fixed charge—and the sum thus accumulated is simply used by the owners to pay part of the wages of the staff.

But God help you if you think that payment of that item frees you of the tip obligation—you must either shell out all the time to every kind of servant, or you must endure embarrassment, insults and poor service.

England is as bad as the Con tinent; and London, in some re spects, several degrees worse.

“ . . Cooin’ ”

In London, where traffic was halted at an intersection, I hopped smartly into a bus and was promptly intercepted by a bulky conductress, with all her feathers out.

“ ’Ere, you cawn’t do that. Cawn’t you see they’re cooin’? Get orf!”

Greatly puzzled, I got off. It took me quite a long time to work it out. The buses were crowded. People may enter them only at the desig nated stopping-places; and at these places, even if there are only two or three, they just habitually form a queue, and stand there wanly waiting. In English life, the queue is a sacred institution —in shops, in railway stations, at fruit barrows, at the postage-stamp counter, in lavatories.

On the Continent, whether in shops, trams, streets or planes, they just push and shove, and devil take the weakest. In England, they form queues, and stand like pale and patient automatons, ignoring backache, rain and their neighbours alike.

I don’t know which is the worse system. It all adds up to the same thing—there are far, far too many people in Europe for happiness or comfort.

This Hatlessness

I have commented before on the

hatlessness of the males and a proportion of the females as« in the streets of most oversea pc Most of the younger men in tralian cities to-day are wit headgear; but in Europe when latitudinal slant removes muu the sun’s bite, the tendenw much more marked.

But most travelling Austi: men seem to bring along theii headgear; so that in a Londil Continental street they stano conspicuously. An Australianr be disconcerted when addiJ familiarly by a Cockney port!

Italian lift-driver with “Go digger,” or “Bonza day, M Kangaroo”—but this is om natural deduction from hisc Without his hat, and with his M camaraderie, he is usually take; an American.

Incidentally, many Austn travelling in Europe identify 1 selves quickly not so much by\ accent as by the distinctive mn colour of the Qantas overnight they carry.