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.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Creepy Crawlers
This is an ode/ warning to all of you wanting to travel to Sydney over the summer season. I am here as an an ambassador of RAID, and unfortunate real life character of Joe's apartment: Cockroaches are the true owners of this land. I have already detailed the amazing number of species, natural occurrences that can take your life away here in Australia, but one fact they don't mention is the cockroaches. I am not suggesting that I have lived in decadence, so some of the blame to why they appeared at my flat is not entirely Sydney's fault. However, it is a known fact that they rule the cracks, spaces and floors of your flat, especially living in Bondi. Now, please return to reading this, I realize you probably recoiled in disgust, just wanted you to know. They all come out at night, in your home, on the streets, and at the bar parked in the stool next to you downing a whiskey on the rocks (hey if these guys are supposedly going to survive a nuclear holocaust, this is what I envision them drinking.) Cockroaches, in most cases, and many times pertaining to my old flat, represent filth, grime and general apathy towards basic tenants of hygiene and cleanliness. But, Sydney has allowed me to justify not spending money on a cleaner. No matter how clean, how sparkly your place is they will always, I repeat, always be there. Fact of life here in the crazy place.
My other warning to you all, is next to that bikini or pair of board shorts, you might want to place a beekeeper suit. This is the only apparel that will safegaurd you from thr onslaught of the flies. Flies in Sydney do not just pester and casually annoy you at the beach or in the streets of Downtown Sydney (CBD), they make it their jihad, crusade, manifest destiny to enter every orifice on your head. Back at home a simple, lugubrious swat would send a fly packing its bags for the nearest available pile of dog present. Here, the flies only show more determination to become part of your left eye, become a new winged ear plug, or a delightful mid afternoon snack. I mean I have seen people walking around swatting at least three flies while another five more hitching a ride (got the title of the blog in, score one for me) on the person's back like an aircraft carrier with parked kamikaze planes waiting for the air raid siren.
After two years I can deal with this. I have devised a technique, almost a wary truce with the flies: I am now USS Hitch, with flies ready to invade and inflict damage on anyone in my path. With the cochroaches, I have resigned myself as a tributary state. My payment consisting of only flushing three down the toilet a week. I am delighted by this new position in life. I'll tell you one thing, at least it is not loose kangaroos with a penchant for crotch kicking. Although with this country, you better pack a cup.
My other warning to you all, is next to that bikini or pair of board shorts, you might want to place a beekeeper suit. This is the only apparel that will safegaurd you from thr onslaught of the flies. Flies in Sydney do not just pester and casually annoy you at the beach or in the streets of Downtown Sydney (CBD), they make it their jihad, crusade, manifest destiny to enter every orifice on your head. Back at home a simple, lugubrious swat would send a fly packing its bags for the nearest available pile of dog present. Here, the flies only show more determination to become part of your left eye, become a new winged ear plug, or a delightful mid afternoon snack. I mean I have seen people walking around swatting at least three flies while another five more hitching a ride (got the title of the blog in, score one for me) on the person's back like an aircraft carrier with parked kamikaze planes waiting for the air raid siren.
After two years I can deal with this. I have devised a technique, almost a wary truce with the flies: I am now USS Hitch, with flies ready to invade and inflict damage on anyone in my path. With the cochroaches, I have resigned myself as a tributary state. My payment consisting of only flushing three down the toilet a week. I am delighted by this new position in life. I'll tell you one thing, at least it is not loose kangaroos with a penchant for crotch kicking. Although with this country, you better pack a cup.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saddling up to the Economic Crisis
The last few weeks have been full on for me. Work has really been overwhelming as groups keep booking and filling up all the space on the greens. I have been just named manager at work, which basically means get a dollar pay rise. Champagne baths, here I am come. Even with the advent of more hours (and I guess, more responsibilities), I have been able to fit in some me time or stop masquerading as a worker and get back to my roots as a traveler. I needed to experience a real Australian past time: Old Fashioned Gambling. Last week, Sam and I went down to Melbourne for a couple of reasons: she wanted to see her parents; my mom is teaching at a University in Melbourne so I had the chance to see her in working/living environment; the parents could meet each other; but more importantly, the Horse Races in Melbourne. It seems only fitting that in this times of financial crisis and recession, my primary objective in flying to Melbourne is to carelessly throw my money away at the horses races. This feels like the prudent action for a struggling writer and part time bartender. Recession does not affect this breed of canned soup eating, and water drinking folk.
We left at the eye blurring time of 5 15 in morning on Friday and I spent the day writing and carousing around my mom's apartment. I had an early night in anticipation of having a long hot day at the races on Saturday.
A little history, Caulfield Cup is one of the major races in the time known as Spring Carnival. Spring Carnival is held in Melbourne and is pretty much an institution in Melbourne. The carnival is not what we imagine a carnival is: carnies (well, the jockeys come close), hoop tosses, bad corn dogs, and a queasy feeling from the rides that may or may not fall apart after each go around. The Carnival represents horse racing at its finest. It takes its roots all the back to 1890's where, in the old English tradition, high society would come out to parade around in the latest styles. It runs from October 1st until November 19th and is highlighted by major races, Caulfield Cup, Oaks Day, Darby Days and finally the big cahuna, Melbourne Cup. The races are similar to The Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes, but people actually care what happens. Melbourne Cup is equivalent to the Super Bowl except that it is a public holiday in Victoria ( it might as well be in New South Wales, NSW, as no work is accomplished in Sydney) and betting is more than encouraged, it is forced upon you.
For all races, men and women dress in their Sunday best. Men wearing the latest suit fashion, women the latest designer dresses. The best part is the hats that the women wear. Like rappers, the hats are an extension of their attire and usually attract more attention than the dress itself. Racing and fashion are inexorably tied to these events which is a far cry from our sense of dress at the Preakness (Just Youtube Preakness, you'll understand). The hats are an amalgam of weeding veils, top hats, yamikas, beanies, yet some of them are actually tasteful. Most of the time, I had to stifle my laughter, but my mouth was curled with a incredulous smile as a woman struts by with a hat that even at a costume party is ridiculous.
As for the racing, betting is intertwined with Australian culture. It comes from the British/convict personality. Gambling is a huge problem in Australia, especially in NSW, and one can see why with such an emphasis on racing. This is not a charge against Australian culture at all. I believe that it is different, it seems more out in the open as betting here is one the more old fashioned events: racing, sporting events, cards and slot machines. There is not the crazy online betting schemes that we have in the states , like who will score first? How many times an announcer will cough during the Super Bowl? Or how many times will McCain change the direction of his campaign etc.
I had to go see this event first hand as working in the Bowling club, I am familiar with the betting culture and Melbourne cup. Sam and I decided to go to the Caulfield Cup. There are about 15 races during the day, with the Caulfield Cup being the top billed race. I dressed up in a shirt and tie (pretty sure for the first time in 10 years). Sam had a great veil/hat configuration (not that I am biased) and we went off to Caulfield Racing Track. There I was overwhelmed with all the young people who dressed up. This was not your typical college age gathering. Aside from the people stumbling around from the heat and alcohol, the ambiance was rich with classiness. I made sure to cap my betting to 50 dollars and kept that promise as the day wore on. As any event with a mass of people, the racing takes a backseat. What is more important is judging, critiquing, drinking and betting with all the other people in your area. We bought general admission tickets, but there is the option of going to a tent. Tickets are 200 dollars and I pretty sure, women are required to wear more outlandish hats (for Melbourne Cup prices sky rocket to 1000.) Food and Drink are included along with a better seat to laugh at all the poor losers in General Admission. I loved being in General Admission, bookies on the grass, guys and girls dressed to the nines, betting booths in the clubhouse, long queues for food and alcohol and not a single person paying attention to the races.
By the end of the day, I was down 150 (including drinks) which in the betting world is a smashing success. More importantly I was happy to envelope myself in something that is Aussie. Also, I needed a practice run in actually wearing, you know "real world clothes."
Melbourne Cup is next week on our Tuesday so I am encouraging you to go online and take a look at all the pictures of the fashionable people. Oh, by the way, there is a race as well.
We left at the eye blurring time of 5 15 in morning on Friday and I spent the day writing and carousing around my mom's apartment. I had an early night in anticipation of having a long hot day at the races on Saturday.
A little history, Caulfield Cup is one of the major races in the time known as Spring Carnival. Spring Carnival is held in Melbourne and is pretty much an institution in Melbourne. The carnival is not what we imagine a carnival is: carnies (well, the jockeys come close), hoop tosses, bad corn dogs, and a queasy feeling from the rides that may or may not fall apart after each go around. The Carnival represents horse racing at its finest. It takes its roots all the back to 1890's where, in the old English tradition, high society would come out to parade around in the latest styles. It runs from October 1st until November 19th and is highlighted by major races, Caulfield Cup, Oaks Day, Darby Days and finally the big cahuna, Melbourne Cup. The races are similar to The Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes, but people actually care what happens. Melbourne Cup is equivalent to the Super Bowl except that it is a public holiday in Victoria ( it might as well be in New South Wales, NSW, as no work is accomplished in Sydney) and betting is more than encouraged, it is forced upon you.
For all races, men and women dress in their Sunday best. Men wearing the latest suit fashion, women the latest designer dresses. The best part is the hats that the women wear. Like rappers, the hats are an extension of their attire and usually attract more attention than the dress itself. Racing and fashion are inexorably tied to these events which is a far cry from our sense of dress at the Preakness (Just Youtube Preakness, you'll understand). The hats are an amalgam of weeding veils, top hats, yamikas, beanies, yet some of them are actually tasteful. Most of the time, I had to stifle my laughter, but my mouth was curled with a incredulous smile as a woman struts by with a hat that even at a costume party is ridiculous.
As for the racing, betting is intertwined with Australian culture. It comes from the British/convict personality. Gambling is a huge problem in Australia, especially in NSW, and one can see why with such an emphasis on racing. This is not a charge against Australian culture at all. I believe that it is different, it seems more out in the open as betting here is one the more old fashioned events: racing, sporting events, cards and slot machines. There is not the crazy online betting schemes that we have in the states , like who will score first? How many times an announcer will cough during the Super Bowl? Or how many times will McCain change the direction of his campaign etc.
I had to go see this event first hand as working in the Bowling club, I am familiar with the betting culture and Melbourne cup. Sam and I decided to go to the Caulfield Cup. There are about 15 races during the day, with the Caulfield Cup being the top billed race. I dressed up in a shirt and tie (pretty sure for the first time in 10 years). Sam had a great veil/hat configuration (not that I am biased) and we went off to Caulfield Racing Track. There I was overwhelmed with all the young people who dressed up. This was not your typical college age gathering. Aside from the people stumbling around from the heat and alcohol, the ambiance was rich with classiness. I made sure to cap my betting to 50 dollars and kept that promise as the day wore on. As any event with a mass of people, the racing takes a backseat. What is more important is judging, critiquing, drinking and betting with all the other people in your area. We bought general admission tickets, but there is the option of going to a tent. Tickets are 200 dollars and I pretty sure, women are required to wear more outlandish hats (for Melbourne Cup prices sky rocket to 1000.) Food and Drink are included along with a better seat to laugh at all the poor losers in General Admission. I loved being in General Admission, bookies on the grass, guys and girls dressed to the nines, betting booths in the clubhouse, long queues for food and alcohol and not a single person paying attention to the races.
By the end of the day, I was down 150 (including drinks) which in the betting world is a smashing success. More importantly I was happy to envelope myself in something that is Aussie. Also, I needed a practice run in actually wearing, you know "real world clothes."
Melbourne Cup is next week on our Tuesday so I am encouraging you to go online and take a look at all the pictures of the fashionable people. Oh, by the way, there is a race as well.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
OZ inspiring
This is a segment from my other writing blog on Sydney and Melbourne. I am only allowed 700 words so my whole thoughts, like how damn cold Melbourne is are absent:
Quick name the capital of Australia. Bet Sydney flew out of your mouth. This is the common misconception not unlike New York City. Canberra is the capital of Australia, and if you have traveled to here, inspiring, exciting are never adjectives to describe the country’s governmental dwelling- adjectives that come to mind range from dull, insipid to the ever popular, soul crushing. No, Canberra’s existence was attributed to the massive rivalry that resonates between Sydney and Melbourne-present even today. Canberra was constructed to appease the bigwigs in each state government- New South Wales (Sydney) and Victoria for (Melbourne). The respective party leaders balked in the past at permitting the other city to enjoy the advantage of being the heralded city in this growing nation within the international community.
A rivalry generally is born from commonalties within two entities who are vying to reach the top position. However today, these two cities offer a completely unique Australian experience that would appear to diffuse a rivalry, but it continues to smolder. Each city endeavors to claim the cultural and spiritual crown of Australia.
As a traveler, the rivalry seems peculiar as the two cities are like apples and oranges offering a wide range of sights, sounds and activities, which capture the attention of any open minded traveler and makes it difficult to arguably state that one city is superior.
Melbourne’s layout would no doubt please any directionally challenged person. The city’s layout is a network of streets that form an easy to navigate grid and a distinguishable downtown. Tram tracks (street trains) reinforce the grid with their cross-crossed railways. Sydney does not have this simplistic layout, as it is a chaotic intersection of numerous streets. Its main street, George St, cuts through the heart of downtown and straight to the harbor. Although Melbourne is the champion of perpendicular street corners, Sydney’s trademark design is no less unmistakable: the Harbor and the ocean. Everything seems to gravitate towards this natural beauty. Streets seem to bend to give a motorist or pedestrian a glimpse of its beauty before in moments there rests the Opera House, Bridge, beach and bays.
The main transit of the two cities differs greatly as well. Trams, antiquated and sleek new versions, dominate the roadways. They slowly glide forward swallowing up passengers from street corners as they move straight over the hills into the distance. In Sydney, big blue and white busses groan and push their way through traffic to reach some unattainable purpose. The style of old and new of the trams embodies the spirit of Melbourne as outdated buildings from the British and new high-rise architecture form a symbiosis of style and grace. It has a European medieval ambiance and one would expect to run into a person speaking like Hugh Grant around every corner. Sydney exudes more of a young child proudly displaying his or her new clothes. There are old buildings, but they quietly lurch in the corners- or belong to the first established part of Sydney, the Rocks area.
Culturally, there are small caveats that differentiate the people between the cities. The simplistic way can be described through the significance of numbers in conversations for a Melbournite or a Sydneysider. In Melbourne, the numbers most important are what tram you will take to the jazz show. Numbers within the address of the bar are tantamount. Melbourne, even with its perfect grid, is a maze of back street cafes and bars; they spring from nowhere and a regular door in alley can lead into a swank popular after hours club. Sydney, important numbers revolve around the height of your surfboard and the size of the wave at 6 a.m. or how many bars you partied at in Kings Cross.
The rivalry seems unfounded as the two cities offer such a unique experience that the other lacks. In truth, the two cities are becoming more homogenous as Melbourne is taking a page from Sydney trying to draw tourists to their habor and river within the city. Sydney, on the other hand, is steering tourist to places like Paddington with its terraces houses and small pubs in an attempt to recapture that lost European character.
They present opportunities for any traveler and even with this rivalry, the two cities can probably agree on one thing: They are wholly Australian.
Quick name the capital of Australia. Bet Sydney flew out of your mouth. This is the common misconception not unlike New York City. Canberra is the capital of Australia, and if you have traveled to here, inspiring, exciting are never adjectives to describe the country’s governmental dwelling- adjectives that come to mind range from dull, insipid to the ever popular, soul crushing. No, Canberra’s existence was attributed to the massive rivalry that resonates between Sydney and Melbourne-present even today. Canberra was constructed to appease the bigwigs in each state government- New South Wales (Sydney) and Victoria for (Melbourne). The respective party leaders balked in the past at permitting the other city to enjoy the advantage of being the heralded city in this growing nation within the international community.
A rivalry generally is born from commonalties within two entities who are vying to reach the top position. However today, these two cities offer a completely unique Australian experience that would appear to diffuse a rivalry, but it continues to smolder. Each city endeavors to claim the cultural and spiritual crown of Australia.
As a traveler, the rivalry seems peculiar as the two cities are like apples and oranges offering a wide range of sights, sounds and activities, which capture the attention of any open minded traveler and makes it difficult to arguably state that one city is superior.
Melbourne’s layout would no doubt please any directionally challenged person. The city’s layout is a network of streets that form an easy to navigate grid and a distinguishable downtown. Tram tracks (street trains) reinforce the grid with their cross-crossed railways. Sydney does not have this simplistic layout, as it is a chaotic intersection of numerous streets. Its main street, George St, cuts through the heart of downtown and straight to the harbor. Although Melbourne is the champion of perpendicular street corners, Sydney’s trademark design is no less unmistakable: the Harbor and the ocean. Everything seems to gravitate towards this natural beauty. Streets seem to bend to give a motorist or pedestrian a glimpse of its beauty before in moments there rests the Opera House, Bridge, beach and bays.
The main transit of the two cities differs greatly as well. Trams, antiquated and sleek new versions, dominate the roadways. They slowly glide forward swallowing up passengers from street corners as they move straight over the hills into the distance. In Sydney, big blue and white busses groan and push their way through traffic to reach some unattainable purpose. The style of old and new of the trams embodies the spirit of Melbourne as outdated buildings from the British and new high-rise architecture form a symbiosis of style and grace. It has a European medieval ambiance and one would expect to run into a person speaking like Hugh Grant around every corner. Sydney exudes more of a young child proudly displaying his or her new clothes. There are old buildings, but they quietly lurch in the corners- or belong to the first established part of Sydney, the Rocks area.
Culturally, there are small caveats that differentiate the people between the cities. The simplistic way can be described through the significance of numbers in conversations for a Melbournite or a Sydneysider. In Melbourne, the numbers most important are what tram you will take to the jazz show. Numbers within the address of the bar are tantamount. Melbourne, even with its perfect grid, is a maze of back street cafes and bars; they spring from nowhere and a regular door in alley can lead into a swank popular after hours club. Sydney, important numbers revolve around the height of your surfboard and the size of the wave at 6 a.m. or how many bars you partied at in Kings Cross.
The rivalry seems unfounded as the two cities offer such a unique experience that the other lacks. In truth, the two cities are becoming more homogenous as Melbourne is taking a page from Sydney trying to draw tourists to their habor and river within the city. Sydney, on the other hand, is steering tourist to places like Paddington with its terraces houses and small pubs in an attempt to recapture that lost European character.
They present opportunities for any traveler and even with this rivalry, the two cities can probably agree on one thing: They are wholly Australian.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Thought I would be looking after kids, and in a way I am
I have been at Paddington Bowling Club for basically two years now. I know, right!? Disclaimer, shameless plug alert: http://www.paddobowls.com.au/
It has had the desired effect of paying my bills, making friends, opening my eyes to the good and bad side of Australians, and I have added to my repertoire of games I am most surely going to play when my back decides to finally give out. ( This could be tomorrow at the rate I am going at.) For those of you still confused about what the particulars of my job are, I will indulge you right now. This place is amalgamation of drinking, lawn bowling, and betting. PBC or as the Aussies call it, the Bowlo, is settled in the back streets of Woolarha and Paddington. This area has an English Charm with two-storied terraced houses that seem tiny from the front, but extend way back. There are a myriad of coffee shops/cafes as well as small boutique stores with their own flavor unlike anything in downtown Sydney. Among these shops and cafes are small pubs that fill up with young 20 somethings looking to have a schooner (type of glass, smaller than a pint) and revel in a more relaxed atmosphere than other areas to drink and hobnob ( I just looked up the origin of hobnob and derivation of the word comes from the 19th where two people drank to each other's health..I guess Paddington is pretty healthy with amount people drink a night.)
I applied for this job when I first came over in October 2006. I found it through the search website seek.com.au under the title "Sports Instructor". Believing that my many years of coaching and teaching kids would be more than enough credentials, I applied. I thought I would be in charge of kid groups and odd games. Sports instruction was probably the greatest misnomer/euphemism in all of the English Language, as I am doing anything but instruction or arguably Sporting. My role is to cater to corporate groups during the week ranging in size from 15 up to 150 people sometimes. I am their fearless leader in the abyss known of lawn bowling. The sport is played outside on an enormous green (there are two at PBC) which is divided into individual lanes. I teach these groups how to bowl. Without getting pedantic, it is extremely similar to Bocce Ball, except a person rolls a small bowling ball that is weighted on side, thereby making it turn as it rolls. I am providing a link for those of you who are still confounded. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawn_bowls
The club is very popular as companies come under the auspice of team building, but in truth, just come to get smashed. We are completely booked out for the month of December and January is already filling up. On a given weekday, there might be a total of 700 or more bowling in all the sessions combined. The time slots are as followed: 11-2, 2-5, 5-8
I explain the rules to which giving a speech that is about 5 minutes long to a large group of inebriated people, is an incredible feat. If I get 20 percent compliance on the house rules (no loud noises, no drinks on the green, one bowler at a time on the green, everyone else needs to be up on the concrete) and how to play, I deem this a smashing success. At this point, I am waiter, barman, score taker, babysitter, funny guy with an accent and looks at little old compared to the other staff. I am usually with my group for about 2 hours or a little more, guiding them through a round robin tournament and eventual final as well as getting them drinks. I also have the enviable role of being tormentor as after about 4-5 drinks and being in the sun, people start forgetting to be quiet and walking on the green with their drinks, at this point I am sternly talking to a lawyer or accountant 10 years my senior to not forget the rules. I always give the disclaimer in my presentation that I am cool guy, but this seems to be lost after the fifth time a rule has been broken. When given a free tab, we all know how some people get at these type of events. The mild manner person at the beginning of the session is now running around the green shirtless and screaming. The secretary is spilling her drinks on you for the fifth time. The list goes on and on; furthermore, drinking really brings out the competitive spirit. I have had some groups that groaned when first bowling, but by the end are arguing with me about which bowl is closer and/or are endlessly hugging and pointing to the heavens when they have won their group's championship. A lady last night, told me she was so nervous in the championship game that she wanted to throw up. Point of reference, she was the director of an advertisement company.
People look to me for answers on how to bowl and what to do, in most cases, I give a serious look and then make up whatever I feel is the best answer on strategy. If I don't know, still got to play the part.
As you can tell, I love it there. It is outside, I am able to talk for two hours and do minimal work, not including set up of the green which takes over an hour. I get to tell and perfect the same stories, which makes me look like a funny guy. Things are going to pick up as I said, so it is going to be full on for me, sometimes instructing 3 groups a day in the blazing sun.
In a way, as I just flushed out one of my responsibilities at PBC, I am instructing kids. I always thought that we should protect kids from drinking at an early age, I do agree with this notion, but I am adding an amendment to this notion: Save the 23- 50 yr old corporate person. My god, the childish stuff they do sometimes is unfathomable. The amount of cajoling I have to do not to break the rules is unreal. It is like Bill Cosby once stated about Parenthood, I am constantly repeating myself where to my chagirn, I think people believe I have a stutter. No No No No, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt. The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside. Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable.
Throughout my summer here, I am going to include more stories about PBC, explain my other roles there (bartender, physical laborer and possible manager), so get ready to be bowled over. Had to do it, sorry.
It has had the desired effect of paying my bills, making friends, opening my eyes to the good and bad side of Australians, and I have added to my repertoire of games I am most surely going to play when my back decides to finally give out. ( This could be tomorrow at the rate I am going at.) For those of you still confused about what the particulars of my job are, I will indulge you right now. This place is amalgamation of drinking, lawn bowling, and betting. PBC or as the Aussies call it, the Bowlo, is settled in the back streets of Woolarha and Paddington. This area has an English Charm with two-storied terraced houses that seem tiny from the front, but extend way back. There are a myriad of coffee shops/cafes as well as small boutique stores with their own flavor unlike anything in downtown Sydney. Among these shops and cafes are small pubs that fill up with young 20 somethings looking to have a schooner (type of glass, smaller than a pint) and revel in a more relaxed atmosphere than other areas to drink and hobnob ( I just looked up the origin of hobnob and derivation of the word comes from the 19th where two people drank to each other's health..I guess Paddington is pretty healthy with amount people drink a night.)
I applied for this job when I first came over in October 2006. I found it through the search website seek.com.au under the title "Sports Instructor". Believing that my many years of coaching and teaching kids would be more than enough credentials, I applied. I thought I would be in charge of kid groups and odd games. Sports instruction was probably the greatest misnomer/euphemism in all of the English Language, as I am doing anything but instruction or arguably Sporting. My role is to cater to corporate groups during the week ranging in size from 15 up to 150 people sometimes. I am their fearless leader in the abyss known of lawn bowling. The sport is played outside on an enormous green (there are two at PBC) which is divided into individual lanes. I teach these groups how to bowl. Without getting pedantic, it is extremely similar to Bocce Ball, except a person rolls a small bowling ball that is weighted on side, thereby making it turn as it rolls. I am providing a link for those of you who are still confounded. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawn_bowls
The club is very popular as companies come under the auspice of team building, but in truth, just come to get smashed. We are completely booked out for the month of December and January is already filling up. On a given weekday, there might be a total of 700 or more bowling in all the sessions combined. The time slots are as followed: 11-2, 2-5, 5-8
I explain the rules to which giving a speech that is about 5 minutes long to a large group of inebriated people, is an incredible feat. If I get 20 percent compliance on the house rules (no loud noises, no drinks on the green, one bowler at a time on the green, everyone else needs to be up on the concrete) and how to play, I deem this a smashing success. At this point, I am waiter, barman, score taker, babysitter, funny guy with an accent and looks at little old compared to the other staff. I am usually with my group for about 2 hours or a little more, guiding them through a round robin tournament and eventual final as well as getting them drinks. I also have the enviable role of being tormentor as after about 4-5 drinks and being in the sun, people start forgetting to be quiet and walking on the green with their drinks, at this point I am sternly talking to a lawyer or accountant 10 years my senior to not forget the rules. I always give the disclaimer in my presentation that I am cool guy, but this seems to be lost after the fifth time a rule has been broken. When given a free tab, we all know how some people get at these type of events. The mild manner person at the beginning of the session is now running around the green shirtless and screaming. The secretary is spilling her drinks on you for the fifth time. The list goes on and on; furthermore, drinking really brings out the competitive spirit. I have had some groups that groaned when first bowling, but by the end are arguing with me about which bowl is closer and/or are endlessly hugging and pointing to the heavens when they have won their group's championship. A lady last night, told me she was so nervous in the championship game that she wanted to throw up. Point of reference, she was the director of an advertisement company.
People look to me for answers on how to bowl and what to do, in most cases, I give a serious look and then make up whatever I feel is the best answer on strategy. If I don't know, still got to play the part.
As you can tell, I love it there. It is outside, I am able to talk for two hours and do minimal work, not including set up of the green which takes over an hour. I get to tell and perfect the same stories, which makes me look like a funny guy. Things are going to pick up as I said, so it is going to be full on for me, sometimes instructing 3 groups a day in the blazing sun.
In a way, as I just flushed out one of my responsibilities at PBC, I am instructing kids. I always thought that we should protect kids from drinking at an early age, I do agree with this notion, but I am adding an amendment to this notion: Save the 23- 50 yr old corporate person. My god, the childish stuff they do sometimes is unfathomable. The amount of cajoling I have to do not to break the rules is unreal. It is like Bill Cosby once stated about Parenthood, I am constantly repeating myself where to my chagirn, I think people believe I have a stutter. No No No No, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt. The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside. Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable.
Throughout my summer here, I am going to include more stories about PBC, explain my other roles there (bartender, physical laborer and possible manager), so get ready to be bowled over. Had to do it, sorry.
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