It has finally happened, after two and a half years I am moving from Bondi and moving to.....drumroll please... to Waverley. Those of you who have not brushed up on your Sydney suburbs map are probably feeling left in the dark. Waverley is the literally adjacent to Bondi and the area is less than a Km from my old house. Sam and I are moving in together for the next three months before jet setting our way across the world. The place is a one bedroom apartment and extremely large. I will spare you the gory details, just it is a really nice place. What is more important is that marks a fresh change from the the suburb that I have called home for the past two years.
For me, and for many others Australians and travelers alike, Bondi is a special place to be. The area is covered with rolling hills and some would feel mountains that lead down to the beach- take my word, walking up Bondi Rd from the beach is quite the physical challenge. I have planted numerous flags at the top proclaiming that I have reached the summit. Somewhere Sir Edmund Hillary is rolling over in his grave. Everywhere you traverse, whether that is on the summit of one of mountains or in a house, the presence of sand is inescapable. The area is dotted with new apartment blocks that are juxtaposed with the seemingly numerous antiquated (cir. 1970) apartment complexes. There is more character in a piece of blank paper than these buildings. Interspersed among the complexes are terrace houses and bungalows once you approach the beach. Within the older, uglier buildings, to which I have had the pleasure of living in, the battle against mildew, lack of sun and stained carpets can not be won. Most of the time, Bondi apartments are drab and soggy even some nice ones. I am betting that the age of the carpet layer was booming in the late seventies. Even with these less than desirable attributes, Bondi is much sought after.The amount of people living in one bedroom apartments that typify what I just detailed is incredible. I mean 5 people might be living in one room. This is due in a large part, ok the a large majority, to the beach. The beach is absolutely magnificent. White sands that stretch in a crescent moon shape over 2km. A cement board walk, devoid of any shops hugs and looms over the beach. In the center is an esplanade with some shops, but mostly situated in the background, the center is dominated by the surf life guard station. Moving towards North Bondi, the Surf club is located and my other favorite area, the outdoor gym. This outdoor gym is a set of beams and poles where people work out. Picture Venice beach, but without the weights. It is a natural gym so to speak. This is an extremely popular area for the people who got something to show or in their mind, got something to show. It is those people who are severely in need of help. Up a short grassy hill that covers the whole beach, the main drag, Cambell Parade, has all the shops, bars, that a typical beach town would have.
While the beach is the dominate attraction, for travelers like myself, the allure of the beach has been replaced by the subtle charm of Bondi living. Most tourists love Bondi because it is the place to be seen or just be. After living there for two years I have seen the ebb and flow of Bondi from the summer months to the winter months. It is a respite in every sense of the word from downtown Sydney. Here the amount of money does not matter, but the amount of days between shaving or how much was spent on the surfboard. There is a myriad of accents, colors and lifestyle all gelling in this polymorphous suburb. Bondi is deemed more glitz and glamor, but in truth there is a laid back mentality that I have enjoyed. It is from the mixing and ever changing cultures that are congruent on a day to day basis that the character of Bondi is derived from. For me, there is a simplicity that can only be explained after being here. Other beaches have this effect and probably are more "down to earth" or beachy. But Bondi was right for me. I am not a beach person, give me a pair of shoes and socks over sandals. However Bondi has changed something in me. I feel more at ease, I can move within this community with more social grace than in other areas. Everyone here, I believe, have had similar stories to mine.
I felt guilty for not going to the beach for weeks. I enjoy just walking into the main shops above the beach and soaking all the people enjoying coffee or reading a book. Of course I am going to return to the beach before leaving, yet I feel as though I have now become an outsider. One of the people who come just for the beach and not for the lifestyle.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Put the lime in the Coconut.....
......and definitely call the doctor, woke him up he say. ( Henry Nilsson)
I added the definitely to the lyrics of this song, because I can't stress enough how prophetic the singer Nilsson turned out to be. Now I did not have a bellyache as his protagonist suffered from, but I certainly required a visit from the doctor. One of my co-wokers mysteriously had this rash form on his wrists. It was concentrated on his wrists only and it looks like someone took a brush with red paint on it and then spattered the paint all over his wrists. However, as fun as this sounds, the contestant won the ultimate rash prize when these red marks began to form blisters. I know, you are asking where to sign up. At the time, I scoffed at his hands, and pretended that this could not happen to me as I had been there for two years and nothing had ever happened to me at Bowls. Oh how the mighty have fallen. This past Friday, I began to notice the spots forming on the back of my hands. Small red dots which then spread into bigger red spots at the base of my thumb and then the banquet of red large dots on my wrists. My left hand was much more affected, but my right wrist was not squeaky clean. I hurriedly raced to clean my hands, but while running my hands under cold water, I felt the sensation of burning. Alarm bells went off. The dots over the course of the day turned darker red and were raised. When I showed Ben what was happening, Ben looked at me sternly and said, it burns now wait till the blisters form.
I had become a monster, except the monster was located on my wrists only. When I woke up on Saturday, my left wrist was covered with about 5-6 blisters with a sprinkling of red. My right had far fewer, but one large party tent blister on the base of my thumb. To say it was unsightly, was the understatement of the year. In this day and age, we have become our own doctors as we try and diagnosis ourselves by using the internet. As Lewis Black aptly pointed out, most humans incorrectly diagnose themselves by thinking they have the worst ailment possible. He stated that flying from NYC to LA, he read a 30 page article on Diabetes and by the time the plane landed 6 hours later, Lewis had diabetes.
I had the same reaction, I was 100 percent sure I had three things: a spider bite, leprosy and that I was becoming a zombie. To debunk my fears, I just listened to the Australian public and Sam. They told me that if I had spider bite, well....to put it bluntly, I would be dead. If I had leprosy, typing this blog would be tough with one hand and finally, the zombie theory is still open for debate. Have you seen me in the morning?
I reluctantly went to the doctor, not because I was worried about marauding for flesh, which would be my new diet as a zombie, but because I am something scarier than a zombie: uninsured. Yes, I heard you scream all the way over here. In any case, I went to the doctor. He led me to his room, where I recounted my tale to him. I showed him my rash. He painstakingly took notes, his slowness was not attributed to the fine details he was taking, but more attributed to holding the shotgun in his left hand. He couldn't rule out zombie either. After finishing his notes, he looked at me and said the most comforting thing a doctor can say to a patient: I have no idea what that is at all. I am sorry, I am paying 80 dollars for this consultation that for all intent and purposes, a 4 year old could have said to me. The best part of the encounter was that the doctor could not declare with certainty that the rash was a product of work; he hinted at the relationship between Ben and I. To set the record straight, I work with Ben nothing more, nothing less. Period. After 10 minutes of awkward silence, he printed out my referral to a dermatologist and I left.
On Monday, dressed in my bright red leather jacket, tight pants, gloves I thrillered my way to the determatologist. (Thrillered= walking and dancing like Jackson in Thriller). At the office, to my chagrin, the dermatologist took one look at my hands and pronounced that the cause was lime juice on my wrists combined with prolonged time in the sun. I immediately shut off the music, and my back up dancers shuffled out and I got down to business with the doctor. Contact Dermatitis it is called. A product of Tahitian limes and exposure to the sun. I had a severe case with the blistering and the ailment should vanish in about two weeks. The reason to why the rash was so localized can be explained by the way I was cutting the limes. My left hand had it worse because I cut with my right and the juice splashed onto my left. I spend oodles of time outside working with groups so there is the sun. Relieved, I got my prescription steroid cream, and one more time for posterity, moonwalked out of the office. So warning to all of you, craving a lime colada, diet coke with lime, or hang out with English people: it may cause severe blistering.
On an unrelated note: When coming to Sydney, remember how I told you it is tantamount to pack a bee keeper suit for the flies, well a map of all the streets in Sydney is just as important. Now you might rebuff me, and say "well Alex, I always travel with a map to foreign cities and lands." Smart traveler, I would reply. However the map is not for your enjoyment, but for the cab drivers in the city who have no idea where any place is. The amount of times, I have been given the wheel to a taxi cab to drive the actual taxi driver to my destination is astonishing. It is not exactly like that, but what usually transpires is: I will say our destination, which is followed by some humming and huffing by the driver, all the time displaying facial features of a student called to answer a question in front of the class even though he didn't do his homework. To make up for his lack of geographical knowledge, most taxi drivers just drive in some indiscriminate direction to quell any fears that he is utterly lost. At this point, after driving in five circles, the taxi driver hands you the street directory and/or stops the car and spends an inordinate amount of minutes looking at the street directory like a detective at a murder scene. He then interrogates me on my whereabouts at 7 pm 24/10 2005 and where I am going tonight. The procedure is then duplicated with any other passengers. With his suspect, I mean street, firmly established he returns to indiscriminately driving. What is incredible from these situations is most cabs are equipped with a GPS system. No joke. This is like choosing to use a typewriter rather than the super fast computer. Unbelievable. Just beware before coming out here, and I plead you to take a bus.
I added the definitely to the lyrics of this song, because I can't stress enough how prophetic the singer Nilsson turned out to be. Now I did not have a bellyache as his protagonist suffered from, but I certainly required a visit from the doctor. One of my co-wokers mysteriously had this rash form on his wrists. It was concentrated on his wrists only and it looks like someone took a brush with red paint on it and then spattered the paint all over his wrists. However, as fun as this sounds, the contestant won the ultimate rash prize when these red marks began to form blisters. I know, you are asking where to sign up. At the time, I scoffed at his hands, and pretended that this could not happen to me as I had been there for two years and nothing had ever happened to me at Bowls. Oh how the mighty have fallen. This past Friday, I began to notice the spots forming on the back of my hands. Small red dots which then spread into bigger red spots at the base of my thumb and then the banquet of red large dots on my wrists. My left hand was much more affected, but my right wrist was not squeaky clean. I hurriedly raced to clean my hands, but while running my hands under cold water, I felt the sensation of burning. Alarm bells went off. The dots over the course of the day turned darker red and were raised. When I showed Ben what was happening, Ben looked at me sternly and said, it burns now wait till the blisters form.
I had become a monster, except the monster was located on my wrists only. When I woke up on Saturday, my left wrist was covered with about 5-6 blisters with a sprinkling of red. My right had far fewer, but one large party tent blister on the base of my thumb. To say it was unsightly, was the understatement of the year. In this day and age, we have become our own doctors as we try and diagnosis ourselves by using the internet. As Lewis Black aptly pointed out, most humans incorrectly diagnose themselves by thinking they have the worst ailment possible. He stated that flying from NYC to LA, he read a 30 page article on Diabetes and by the time the plane landed 6 hours later, Lewis had diabetes.
I had the same reaction, I was 100 percent sure I had three things: a spider bite, leprosy and that I was becoming a zombie. To debunk my fears, I just listened to the Australian public and Sam. They told me that if I had spider bite, well....to put it bluntly, I would be dead. If I had leprosy, typing this blog would be tough with one hand and finally, the zombie theory is still open for debate. Have you seen me in the morning?
I reluctantly went to the doctor, not because I was worried about marauding for flesh, which would be my new diet as a zombie, but because I am something scarier than a zombie: uninsured. Yes, I heard you scream all the way over here. In any case, I went to the doctor. He led me to his room, where I recounted my tale to him. I showed him my rash. He painstakingly took notes, his slowness was not attributed to the fine details he was taking, but more attributed to holding the shotgun in his left hand. He couldn't rule out zombie either. After finishing his notes, he looked at me and said the most comforting thing a doctor can say to a patient: I have no idea what that is at all. I am sorry, I am paying 80 dollars for this consultation that for all intent and purposes, a 4 year old could have said to me. The best part of the encounter was that the doctor could not declare with certainty that the rash was a product of work; he hinted at the relationship between Ben and I. To set the record straight, I work with Ben nothing more, nothing less. Period. After 10 minutes of awkward silence, he printed out my referral to a dermatologist and I left.
On Monday, dressed in my bright red leather jacket, tight pants, gloves I thrillered my way to the determatologist. (Thrillered= walking and dancing like Jackson in Thriller). At the office, to my chagrin, the dermatologist took one look at my hands and pronounced that the cause was lime juice on my wrists combined with prolonged time in the sun. I immediately shut off the music, and my back up dancers shuffled out and I got down to business with the doctor. Contact Dermatitis it is called. A product of Tahitian limes and exposure to the sun. I had a severe case with the blistering and the ailment should vanish in about two weeks. The reason to why the rash was so localized can be explained by the way I was cutting the limes. My left hand had it worse because I cut with my right and the juice splashed onto my left. I spend oodles of time outside working with groups so there is the sun. Relieved, I got my prescription steroid cream, and one more time for posterity, moonwalked out of the office. So warning to all of you, craving a lime colada, diet coke with lime, or hang out with English people: it may cause severe blistering.
On an unrelated note: When coming to Sydney, remember how I told you it is tantamount to pack a bee keeper suit for the flies, well a map of all the streets in Sydney is just as important. Now you might rebuff me, and say "well Alex, I always travel with a map to foreign cities and lands." Smart traveler, I would reply. However the map is not for your enjoyment, but for the cab drivers in the city who have no idea where any place is. The amount of times, I have been given the wheel to a taxi cab to drive the actual taxi driver to my destination is astonishing. It is not exactly like that, but what usually transpires is: I will say our destination, which is followed by some humming and huffing by the driver, all the time displaying facial features of a student called to answer a question in front of the class even though he didn't do his homework. To make up for his lack of geographical knowledge, most taxi drivers just drive in some indiscriminate direction to quell any fears that he is utterly lost. At this point, after driving in five circles, the taxi driver hands you the street directory and/or stops the car and spends an inordinate amount of minutes looking at the street directory like a detective at a murder scene. He then interrogates me on my whereabouts at 7 pm 24/10 2005 and where I am going tonight. The procedure is then duplicated with any other passengers. With his suspect, I mean street, firmly established he returns to indiscriminately driving. What is incredible from these situations is most cabs are equipped with a GPS system. No joke. This is like choosing to use a typewriter rather than the super fast computer. Unbelievable. Just beware before coming out here, and I plead you to take a bus.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Call it the Obama Hangover
Whew!!! I am still reeling from the Obama's victory these past weeks. It was strange, I never felt far away from it all happening. Every newspaper in Australia had at least 7-8 articles a day leading up to the election and then has continued this trend even to this day. I was able to take it all in from my friend's flat in Bondi. It was a surreal setting, daylight, the beach with surfer's, who cared more about the monstrous wave the was in the next set then the monstrous election at hand, peaceful and uneventful streets with the normal pace of traffic. All seemed out of place as I watched the election transpire. I was overwhelmed by the victory, but in a strange way, I am still not drawn back to States. I find it awesome that I can now defend the States with the trump: yeah, but we elected Obama. However in a reversal of how I felt when Bush was elected, pledging to leave the States, I am not booking that ticket back. I feel the stronger desire to stay abroad and transform the antipathy felt towards the United States. Now, don't think I am going to go out and become this vocal activist stumping the States somewhere in Guatemala. His election has affirmed my belief that hopefully the US is in able hands. I did not feel anymore patriotic than before ( I have always knew where I came from without being ashamed), I just feel proud of the country for shedding so much dead weight and being able to move on.
The circle back around what I find most interesting throughout this election was Australia's coverage. The talk leading up to the election was about Obama, the talk after the election was Obama. The coverage and simple everyday conversations, for me, pointed to the fact that Australia is much more closely linked to the US, culturally and economically then its mother England. The potential dismissal of Gordon Brown in England has not generated any speculation. The funny thing is that people see here and I suppose this is the pulse of the States, that Obama is the end solution. I have heard out here that Obama is the greatest president ever. Interesting statement since Obama hasn't even taken a sip from his "World's Greatest President" coffee mug.
The circle back around what I find most interesting throughout this election was Australia's coverage. The talk leading up to the election was about Obama, the talk after the election was Obama. The coverage and simple everyday conversations, for me, pointed to the fact that Australia is much more closely linked to the US, culturally and economically then its mother England. The potential dismissal of Gordon Brown in England has not generated any speculation. The funny thing is that people see here and I suppose this is the pulse of the States, that Obama is the end solution. I have heard out here that Obama is the greatest president ever. Interesting statement since Obama hasn't even taken a sip from his "World's Greatest President" coffee mug.
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